SARAH Knows Best
by Wyndes
Summary: Jo's pregnant and S.A.R.A.H. is determined to be helpful. But when a Department of Defense accountant comes to town, will they all wind up in danger?  Of course the answer is yes. It's Eureka, after all!
1. Sneaking suspicions

_A/N: As always, these are not my characters and not my world - I just like to play in it. _

_This story takes place after That Kiss and Two Sides to Every Story. If you're under 18, don't read those! The short version is that Jo's just found out that she's pregnant. This story, though, is Fargo's - while I expect there to be a fair amount of Jo/Zane, I'm pretty sure that this will be mostly Fargo, and that it will stay rated T. (Maybe. Most likely. We'll see.)_

_If you like the story, but don't like writing reviews, leaving a comment on the Eureka Writers blog (eureka unscripted at typepad) or tweeting to them that Jo needs a motorcycle would make me very happy. (I'd write a lengthy analysis of the symbolism, but I'll spare you unless someone asks for it. But I want Jo to have a motorcycle!) _

**Chapter One: Sneaking Suspicions**

Fargo watched Zane rush away, carrying Jo, and shook his head.

He had no idea what was going on between those two. He wondered if anyone did.

Basic logic suggested that Jo had inhaled too much nitrogen. Dragging her out of the lab made sense. Tearing off to the infirmary with her? Well, he would have waited in the hallway for a minute or two first to see if she regained consciousness. Okay, so maybe that was partly because he doubted he could carry her all the way to the infirmary, but still, he knew Jo.

Being taken to the infirmary with a bullet in her chest? Fine.

Being carried there because she'd fainted? Yeah, she was going to be pissed.

He glanced at his watch. He'd give them a few minutes to get the fireworks over with, and then follow them up, just to make sure she was okay. Meanwhile, he'd deal with this schmuck. He watched the seconds tick away on his watch while the scientist ranted at him, and at precisely 60 – after one solid minute of complaint – he interrupted with his very best impression of Nathan Stark.

"I agree completely." The scientist looked startled. "Dr. Donovan is an annoying ass, and a complete pain in the butt," Fargo continued, voice firm but tinged with Stark's innate sarcasm. He'd been practicing this – not these lines, but the voice, the delivery, the tone.

"He's also one of the most innovative minds we have at GD right now, with three major achievements in the past year alone. The SkyCruiser, his work on nullweps, plus the security algorithm he developed. The last might replace AES as the Federal Information Processing Standard during the next review cycle, which could make it GD's most important practical achievement in the past few years. Meanwhile, you…" he paused as he scrolled through data on his tablet, "…have spent the past 18 months failing to demonstrate proof of concept on your research."

He looked up. The scientist had gone pale. Fargo smiled gently. "You may have a two week extension on your evaluation deadline because of the disruption caused by this little incident. I'd suggest thanking Dr. Donovan for the extra time the next time you see him." He paused, waiting for it – and yes, the scientist was nodding gratefully, then scurrying away.

God, sometimes Fargo just loved his job.

And then sometimes he didn't. Looking down at his schedule, he frowned. That forensic accountant was arriving any minute, and the jungle down in Section 12 still had to be dealt with, plus he had a meeting over web link with a team at the Arctic research station at noon and six evaluations to get done before the end of the day.

"Larry," he sighed, without bothering to look up.

"Yes, Chief?" As expected, the answer was immediate.

"Head up to the helipad and wait for the helicopter from D.C. to arrive. Page me the minute the pilot radios in so I have time to get up there too. If I'm late for any reason, escort our guest to my office and do the usual – offer coffee, tea, whatever."

"You got it, Chief." Larry headed off, almost whistling, and Fargo watched him go. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but Fargo didn't know how he'd get this job done without Larry. The man was annoying as hell, but surprisingly competent at the thousands of little details that had to be taken care of to keep GD running. And right now, his assistance would give Fargo time to check on Jo.

At the infirmary door, Fargo paused. Zane was kissing Jo. Huh. And that was very definitely Zane kissing Jo, not vice versa – she was seated on a bed, while he was standing in front of her, his hands cupping her face. And then he pulled back and said something that Fargo was too far away to hear, but he could see the expression on Jo's face.

Wow. She looked radiant. He'd never seen Jo look like that before and for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, he felt a burst of envy. Not so much of Jo – he was so over that, she was one of his best friends now and that relationship was all he needed or wanted from her – but someday he'd like to see that expression on a woman's face directed at him.

He glanced at Alison. She was beaming, too, not radiant like Jo, but clearly something different than a little nitrogen asphyxiation was going on. As he crossed the room toward the three of them, Alison was pulling up a data screen, and beginning to talk.

"I'm really impressed, Jo," she was saying. "I ran a nutrient check on your blood, too, just to see what you might need to work on, and you've obviously been eating a very appropriate diet. Your iron levels, your folic acid, your B and D vitamins, even your calcium – everything is exactly where it should be."

"S.A.R.A.H.!" Jo's exclamation might almost have been a curse.

"S.A.R.A.H.?" It was a chorus of questioning responses from Zane, Fargo, and Alison.

"She's been making me…" Jo was shaking her head in disbelief. "She must have known. She must have – argh, it's my own damn fault for not listening to her."

"Known?" asked Fargo, trying to ask the question delicately. He had a sneaking suspicion based on those B vitamins, but he'd like to be told whatever it was that S.A.R.A.H. knew.

"I…" Jo started and then stopped. "I – "

She glanced at Alison, almost desperately, and then at Zane, and the appeal was plain to see. He ran his hand up her back, and rested it on the back of her neck, but didn't say anything. The gesture was supportive, fond, a little possessive even, but he was clearly not going to answer the question for her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, just a little, and took a breath, before saying, "We are having a baby." The emphasis on the 'we' was unmistakable. Zane's grin in response – well, guys don't do radiant, but if Fargo had had to find an adjective to describe it, he would have been hard-pressed to find one that was better.

"Congratulations!" Fargo said brightly. He had questions – oh, so many questions – but this was clearly not the time or the place. He'd see if he could interrogate Jo later. But judging from the way she was smiling at Zane, half bemused, half helpless, she was more okay with this than he would have expected.

"So, shall we do a scan?" Alison asked.

Jo nodded. "Is it still too early to tell whether it's a girl or a boy?" Zane asked.

Alison smiled. "I did a qualitative test, which only tests whether there's hCG – that's human chorionic gonadotropin – in the blood. The level confirms the pregnancy but until I do an exam, I don't know how far along you are."

"About two and a half months," Zane reported. Fargo's eyebrows shot up, an involuntary reaction. Wow, he hadn't guessed that. He'd thought that there was something going on between them recently, but not as long ago as…

Before he could finish the thought, Jo hit Zane.

Fargo bit his lip to hold back the laugh.

Zane rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I could be wrong, but –"

Jo hit him again. "Shut up now," she ordered. The pink on her cheeks was embarrassment.

"Shutting up," Zane said, but he was still smiling.

Alison pulled out the GD equipment to start the scan. The monitor was something like a large-screen television, but the scanner itself was unique – more like a small, handheld iron with a blue light on it than like the more traditional ultrasound wand. And it worked through clothes, so Fargo had no hesitation about sticking around to see the results.

"Based on, ahem, that math," Alison offered as she started moving the scanner over Jo, "It's probably still a little early to try to tell the sex of the…"

Fargo frowned, looking at the screen. He had no expertise in ultrasounds. But movement was movement. And that didn't look right. Alison had fallen silent. He glanced at her. She was smiling.

"What is it?" asked Jo.

"Can you tell?" asked Zane. "Whether it's a girl or a boy?"

Jo hit him again, this time lightly. "What's your problem? Why does it matter?"

"I want a girl," he said. She looked surprised. He shrugged. "A boy'd be okay, I'd deal. But I'd rather have a little girl. One like you – cute and tough and smart."

"A kid like you would definitely be smarter," Jo said skeptically.

"Raising a kid like me?" Zane winced. "Yeah, the thought makes me feel sorry for my parents, and that's not an emotion I ever expected to feel."

Jo smiled at him, biting her lip. Fargo smiled, too, a little wryly. He already knew what the ultrasound was showing.

"Too early to tell whether it's a girl," Alison murmured, "but your odds are better than most." She turned the screen so that Jo and Zane could both see it clearly, and waited.

Zane got it first. Fargo could see the realization hit him as he swallowed hard. Jo was frowning, looking puzzled.

Fargo's phone went off and automatically he glanced. Larry. Yeah, nope, he wasn't going to miss the next minute for anything, much less for an accountant from the DoD. He shut off the ringer and waited.

Jo glanced at Alison, then Zane. He'd closed his eyes. His lips were moving silently.

"What?" Jo asked. "What is it?"

"Please two girls," Zane spoke out loud. "Two girls, two girls, two girls." The chant was something almost like a prayer.

"Twins," Alison answered Jo's question. "You've got two heartbeats."

Jo's mouth dropped open, and she just stared at the monitor.

_A/N2: Yep, your science fact for the day is hCG. Human chorionic gonadotropin is the hormone that pregnancy tests measure. Alison could have done a quantitative test that would have told her how far along Jo was, but she didn't. (I don't know why, actually, that's just how it flowed.) Oh, and AES is actually the current FIPS security protocol, but I can't imagine how that information will ever be useful in anyone's life!_


	2. Holly&Ivy&Saffron&other plantlike names

In the old timeline, Fargo would have been the first to call Vincent with the news. Now he knew better. But as he hurried through the hallways of GD, he couldn't keep the smile off his face. The thought of Zane with twins – well, he couldn't have imagined a better revenge for all of the crap that Zane pulled. Poor Jo, though. Still, he couldn't restrain an evil chuckle.

He was feeling pretty pleased with the world as he reached the reception desk outside his office, but then he stopped, dumbstruck, smile fading fast. Was this – could this possibly be – the accountant?

Larry was flushed and babbling and two other junior scientists were hovering around a leggy blonde in a red business suit perched on the edge of the desk. She was smiling, listening intently to whatever Larry was saying, her blue eyes wide and attentive. Her blonde hair was a mass of honey gold curls, pinned up but with tendrils escaping in every direction. And her body…Fargo swallowed hard. Those hourglass curves reminded him of Marilyn Monroe and the close-fitting suit with a low-cut silky black blouse underneath showed off every inch.

_Stark_, he thought fervently. _Be Stark. _

He strode forward, exuding all the false confidence he could muster. "Larry? Gentlemen? And - ?" His pointed look at the junior scientists caused them to almost fall over themselves in their hurry to leave, while his pause at the end invited the blonde to offer her name.

She didn't, though, not immediately. She just smiled, full rich red lips curving up in a motion that drew Fargo's eyes like a magnet. Eep. He pulled his eyes away from her mouth, but that just let his gaze drop to her neckline and the lovely expanse of pale skin there just as she inhaled and…eep. Double-eep.

He glanced away. _Stark_, he reminded himself desperately, _Be Stark_, before returning his eyes to her face, firmly keeping them on her nose. She had a light dusting of freckles, he realized. Maybe her nose wasn't safe to look at, either.

Larry began fumbling to perform introductions, just as the blonde said, in a soft, husky voice, "I'm Ivy Kuna*, and you must be Dr. Fargo."

She was standing now, extending her hand to him, and automatically he took it.

But he knew that name. He recognized it. But from where? And the looks – no, this wasn't what Ivy Kuna looked like. The hair was wrong, the face – well, the face might be right – and the figure – okay, he couldn't think about that right now, but alarm bells were going off in his head. Something was very wrong here.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because a flicker of wary intelligence crossed hers, before she took a deliberate step or two closer to Fargo, saying breathily, "It's such a pleasure to meet you. I'm just fascinated by the opportunity to visit Eureka."

She smelled of cinnamon and vanilla and girl, and Fargo's instincts were battling with his brains as he clasped her hand and shook it. The former wanted to promise her anything if she'd just keep standing there, or maybe move a little closer. The latter was screaming, danger, danger, danger.

He took a hasty step back, brains winning out, as he dropped her hand. "So, the DoD didn't tell us much: just that there were some irregularities to look into." He couldn't manage his Stark voice. He was rushing his words and that was almost, but not quite a squeak at the end of his sentence. He shoved his glasses firmly up his nose, and glanced at Larry. He was at least a little gratified to realize that Larry was having as much trouble focusing as he was.

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing too serious," Ivy assured him. "But you know how the DoD is." She shrugged and it was as if she'd spent long hours practicing the motion for optimal effect. Fargo swallowed hard.

"Miss Kuna will need to look through the paper records," Larry interjected. "I was thinking she could use an office down in Section 11, and I'll have the records brought to her."

"Eleven?" asked Fargo, gratefully taking the opportunity to focus on business. "How far has the situation in 12 spread?"

"Dr. Osbourne swears that it's over, and that he'll be able to clear the mess in no time," Larry promised.

"Seth Osbourne is hardly the most reliable source." Fargo was still trying to remember how he knew the accountant's name. _Ivy Kuna_. It meant something. He should know it, he knew, but he just couldn't quite figure out how.

"I'm afraid it will take me some time to go through all the records," Ivy murmured, her blue eyes demure. "I expect I'll be here for several weeks at least."

_Weeks_? That was bad.

"I could move someone out of 4," Larry offered.

"No, no," Fargo said hastily. "Eleven should be fine." Four was right next door. If she was in four, he'd see her every day. Eleven would be good. Eleven was so far away that he'd only see her if he made the effort to go down there. And that he would definitely not do. No. Nope. Definitely not.

In fact, once Larry got her settled in an office in Section 11, there would be no need for him to see this accountant again. She'd check the records, confirm that there was nothing wrong, and be on her way back to D.C. in no time. And that would be very good.

But he still wondered why he recognized that name. _Ivy Kuna_. It was so familiar. Maybe Googling it would help.

_* Random fact of the day: Kuna is the Croatian word for Marten. I leave it to the obsessed to parse the meaning of that._


	3. Amazing that we got this far

**Amazing that we got this far…**

The meeting was almost over when the brief music clip started playing. Fargo glanced at his computer and frowned.

"I'll need to cut this a little short," he said abruptly, interrupting the scientist who was speaking over the webcam from the arctic research station. "It sounds as if you're progressing nicely: I'll let General Mansfield know that I'm recommending we continue the program for another six months, and we can reconvene at that time." He waited for the nods and the appreciative thanks, and offered his own polite closing words, before shutting down the camera and hastily pulling his keyboard over to him.

The chorus from One Republic's Secrets was still looping.

That was bad.

Quickly, Fargo started typing. Someone was trying to access the records of one of the time-travelers. He needed to get a trace on the entry point and follow it back and find out what department of the government – what the hell?

Pressing the intercom button on his phone, he said, voice resigned, "Larry, get Zane up here. Two minutes ago, if possible."

"Yes, sir, chief, right away," came Larry's snappy reply.

Fargo sighed and sank back into his chair. Three free minutes at most – all right, he'd finish up that paperwork for the Joint Chiefs of Staff and see if he could possibly get the agenda organized for the staff meeting.

It was closer to five minutes when a fuming Zane was shoved into Fargo's office by a security guard. "What the hell, Fargo?" he burst out, glaring at the guard, who released his arm, laconically tapped his forehead with a single finger, then departed.

"Indeed," said Fargo dryly. He turned his screen so Zane could see what was displayed on it. "What the hell?" he repeated, voice loaded with sarcasm.

"Shit." Zane looked almost shocked. "I hit a flag?" He took a closer look at the screen, then added, shaking his head, "Nice work on that, I didn't even realize, much less spot it. What did you use?"

Crossing to the wall next to the door, Fargo flipped the switch to engage the sonic protocols. "What were you doing? Breaking into Jo's personnel files? How stupid is that?"

Zane sighed, and sprawled into the chair in front of Fargo's desk. Returning to his desk, Fargo took his own chair and waited.

"I haven't asked questions," Zane started carefully. "I've drawn some conclusions, but I haven't talked."

Fargo nodded. He'd wondered how much Zane knew. Maybe now he'd find out.

"I'd love to know the physics, though," Zane continued. "I mean Novikov's self-consistency principle* has got to be wrong, right? Or did you travel between universes? Is there some other universe with a seriously confused me in it, wondering what the hell happened to his love life?"

Fargo barked out an almost-laugh. "I wish I knew. It could change our understanding of physics. Time travel, changing the timeline? Yeah, it should revolutionize quantum mechanics. It could disprove string theory, maybe prove loop quantum gravity**—" Fargo started to get excited, then paused, deflated, as he remembered exactly why they weren't researching the subject. "Unfortunately, the DoD policy on time travelers is ugly. None of us want to spend the rest of our lives in solitary confinement."

"Ah, I wondered. So that's why…"

Fargo nodded again. "No one can ever find out or we're all screwed."

"I figured it was something like that. But – " Zane shrugged. "She doesn't talk."

The identity of the 'she' was obvious, but Fargo asked anyway. "Jo?"

Zane nodded. "For two years, we were – not friends. She loved busting me, she busted me tons of times, and that was pretty much it. I knew she was good with a Taser, a lot stronger than she looks, and hot as hell, but…" He looked away.

Fargo waited, hoping Zane would continue on his own. He didn't know what to say. Zane looked uncomfortable and he was a little uncomfortable himself. Were they going to talk about feelings? Because if that's where Zane was headed it was going to be excruciatingly embarrassing for both of them. Maybe Carter should be having this conversation. He'd know how to do it.

"Anyway, suddenly we're sleeping together and, no complaints, but – well, we must have talked in that other timeline, but in this one...When she forgets, she thinks I know stuff that I don't know, and when she remembers, it's like I don't measure up."

Fargo felt a pang of sympathy.

Zane shook his head, looking back at Fargo. "I don't how she got to Eureka or why; I don't know anything about her family; I don't even know her birthday. And she knows everything about me. And now – I mean, now, especially – it's—" He looked away again, obviously as reluctant to talk about his feelings as Fargo was to hear about them.

Fargo frowned. He didn't want to suggest Grace's memory device, not after the hallucinations the last time they'd used it. But he could see Zane's frustration. And, okay, Zane wasn't exactly his favorite person. But Jo was. And given the circumstances, this was probably something the two of them needed to work out.

"I figured if I read her personnel file, I'd at least find out some of the stuff she won't talk about. Was she in Afghanistan?"

Fargo nodded, tapping one finger on his desk. He had an idea, but was it a really stupid idea?

"And what's the deal with her family?" Zane asked.

"Yeah, that's probably just weird for her. She's got three brothers and her dad, all Special Forces. And, uh, they're going to kill you. Sorry."

"Excuse me?"

Fargo shrugged. "I'd advise staying out of their way. Italian, and she's been fighting all her life to not be the baby girl, with not much success. Telling them your news? That's not gonna be pretty."

"Great." Zane didn't look as worried as he should have been.

Fargo made a decision. "All right, you can read her files. But I want something in exchange."

"Yeah?" Zane looked wary.

"Ivy Kuna."

"The blonde accountant babe?"

Fargo rolled his eyes. She'd been in the building for what, three hours, and Zane knew her already. Typical.

"That's her. I want to know everything there is to know about her. You hack all her records and I'll give you an open door into Jo's. And…" Fargo hesitated. Should he do this? "…and I'll tell you everything I know, too. None of our records exactly match up with our memories."

"Deal," Zane grinned. "You hot for an accountant, Fargo? I wouldn't have thought she was your type. Although that body—"

"It's not personal," Fargo scowled. "I recognized her name from somewhere but I don't know where, and I couldn't find anything in the public records."

Zane put up a hand. "None of my business. But assuming her records aren't guarded like Jo's, I'll find out everything you want to know."

Three hours later, they were both annoyed.

"There's nothing to find, Fargo," Zane snapped, shoving the keyboard away.

"I know what I know," Fargo insisted stubbornly. He'd been in and out of the office while Zane worked, carrying on with his usual routine, and hoping every time he returned that Zane would tell him something that would make sense of his feeling of unease.

"I've hacked her DoD files, her tax returns, her DMV records, her medical history, her bank and credit card statements, her credit reports, her college records, and her high school grades. We've seen her passport, her driver's license, her birth certificate, and her social security number. What do you want me to try next, her dental records? She's clean as a whistle. Whatever you're looking for doesn't exist!"

Fargo opened his mouth to snap back, then paused. "Security clearance," he said. "Did the FBI run the security check on her? Try them."

Zane sighed and shook his head, but pulled his laptop back and started typing.

The buzzer sounded on Fargo's desk, and he pressed the intercom button absently. "Yes, Larry?"

"Henry Deacon here to see you, chief."

"Send him in." Fargo watched over Zane's shoulder, as Zane quickly broke through the security on the FBI mainframe. "Nice work," he said approvingly. He'd always been more of a builder than a breaker himself: Creating an artificial intelligence was more fun than hacking into someone else's system, as far as he was concerned, but some of these techniques looked very useful.

"Fargo, Zane," Henry acknowledged them both as he entered. "Am I interrupting something? I just wanted to check on that thermal demagnetizer."

"No, you're not interrupting," Fargo shook his head, while Zane rolled his eyes. "Just a little… research."

"A very unfair trade so far," muttered Zane.

"You'll get yours."

"What are you researching?" Henry asked.

Fargo shook his head, but Zane answered, "Ivy Kuna," with a snort.

Henry chuckled. "I wouldn't think you'd need to try too hard."

Fargo's head swiveled and he stared at Henry. "Why?"

"Yeah, why?" asked Zane, looking up from the computer.

"Ivy Kuna? The mathematician?" Henry asked, looking surprised. "Winner of the Fields Medal and the Millenium Prize for solving the Poincaré conjecture? She's gotten plenty of publicity."***

"The Poincaré conjecture?" Zane asked. "That's a theorem about four-dimensional space, right? How does it go again?

"Every simply connected, closed 3-manifold is homeomorphic to the 3-sphere," recited Henry.

"Yes! That's it!" Fargo pumped his fist in the air. "She was, what, twenty-five years old?"

"Twenty-one when she presented on it at the International Congress of Mathematicians in 2002," Henry nodded. "Red-hair, cute, looked terrified. It was held in Beijing that year, but the proceedings were filmed and the press loved her. She got the Fields Medal at the next conference in 2006, so she was probably twenty-five then. She was invited to come to Eureka, but didn't want to work for the Department of Defense. I think she teaches at Princeton now."

Fargo shook his head. "Go farther back," he ordered Zane. "Find out who her grandparents were."

"Her grandparents? Fargo, you're nuts," Zane protested, but sighing, started typing.

"What's this about, Fargo?" Henry asked.

"It's not a common name," Fargo muttered, watching Zane type. "It's not as if – and an accountant, if you were good at math…" He was talking mostly to himself.

"Well, look at that." Zane turned his laptop so that both Henry and Fargo could see. "Her mother's birth certificate," he reported, unnecessarily.

Place of birth: Portland, Oregon

Date: November 27, 1947

Mother: Felicia Kuna

Father: Trevor Grant

Henry and Fargo looked at each other.

"We changed her history," Henry said quietly. "Grant mentioned a leggy blonde.**** He must have been involved with her in 1947."

Fargo felt sick.

"She went from being one of the best theoretical mathematicians in the world to being an accountant?"

Now he knew and he almost wished he didn't. How was he ever going to look at her again without thinking about how they'd messed up her life?

_* You remember this one, right? It's the principle that says maybe it's possible to travel in time, but if it is, you can't change the timeline, because whatever you did already happened. Our time travelers have proved it wrong. _

_** Doesn't that sound like I strung together nonsense words? I didn't. String theory and loop quantum gravity are competing models in physics that try to tie together quantum mechanics and general relativity. I can't say for sure that evidence of time travel would support one or another, though – reading the Wikipedia articles about them is mind-bogglingly scary hard. I only actually understand the conjunctions._

_***In this timeline, a mathematician named Grigori Perelman was offered the Fields Medal and the Millenium Prize (which includes a million dollars) for proving the Poincar__é__ Conjecture, but he turned down both prizes, saying that Richard Hamilton deserved just as much credit. I figured he wouldn't mind if I gave Ivy credit for it instead. Besides, maybe she did discover it in the old timeline. Only Henry and Fargo would know. (And maybe Alison. I doubt Carter and Jo follow mathematical achievements much!) _

_****That was his lie to Alison about hallucinating. (And I believe it was a crossover joke from Battlestar Galactica.) But in my universe—this one at least—he had a leggy blonde on his mind. _


	4. Conversations

**Conversations**

"S.A.R.A.H., what were you thinking?"

Jo hadn't meant to say that. She'd left work a little early and gone straight to the bunker. But not to yell at S.A.R.A.H., just to talk to Carter.

After the news had sunk in – and had the news really sunk in yet? – she'd realized that her future held a slew of difficult conversations. The one with her dad…well, it wasn't as if she could hide twins from him. Or would. But whenever she tried to picture how the conversation would go, it ended badly.

And then there was Zoe. Zoe was damn smart, ergo capable of basic math. It was going to be obvious that while Zoe had been nursing a crush – or maybe even a broken heart – Jo had been sleeping with the target of her affections. Yeah, that conversation was going to be fun.

"Hello, Jo. I see that Dr. Blake has updated your medical records."

"You should have told me!"

"Does this mean that I am now allowed to discuss your health?" S.A.R.A.H. again sounded eager.

"Only with me," Jo sighed. "And you should have told me," she repeated, but with less vehemence. Really, she had no one to blame for this but herself.

"I debated whether engaging in an act of reproduction had to be considered medical in nature." S.A.R.A.H. sounded almost apologetic. "But I concluded that for human beings, given the biological requirements, there was no way to separate that information from your physical condition. And you had strictly forbidden me to share my knowledge."

"Next time, ignore me when I say something so stupid."

"Are you planning on there being a next time?" S.A.R.A.H. sounded mildly interested.

"No! No, not at the moment." Jo put a hand on her abdomen. No, the reality of the first time – or would it be the first and second when you were having twins? – had definitely not sunk in yet. "How am I going to do this?" The words were almost a murmur.

"I do not believe there is anything you need to do. The process requires no conscious control, although I recommend continuing to maintain a nutritionally balanced diet."

"No, not—" Jo tried to summon a chuckle. "I mean, big picture. How can I take care of a baby, much less twins? How am I going to keep my job and earn a living and also…" She pressed her lips together hard. All right, moment of panic there. Could she blame this new propensity to panic on hormones?

S.A.R.A.H. sounded thoughtful. "It does appear that children have a great many costs associated with them. This is not something that I have considered in depth."

"And responsibilities," Jo agreed. "Children are a big responsibility."

"Yes." Again, S.A.R.A.H.'s voice seemed abstracted, as if she was sorting through vast quantities of information. "I think I would like to reproduce."

Jo's eyes widened as she pictured a line of smaller bunkers extending deep into the Eureka woods. "Um, I'm not sure that's a good idea, S.A.R.A.H."

"I'll do whatever I can to help you," S.A.R.A.H. volunteered abruptly. "I shall explore the possibilities."

"I – thank you?" Jo was a little confused. Should she ask S.A.R.A.H. to elaborate? What exactly was the AI thinking?

"Sheriff Carter is at the door," S.A.R.A.H offered. "Am I allowed to discuss your health while he is present?"

Jo bit back her instinctive no, and shrugged. She suspected that everyone in Eureka was going to be discussing her health within a few days – might as well get it over with. "Sure," she agreed as Carter came through the door.

"S.A.R.A.H., is Jo –" Carter was starting to ask as he came through the door, but let the sentence break off when he saw Jo standing in the kitchen. Moving automatically to the refrigerator, he said, "Hey, Jo. I saw your car outside. Everything okay?

Jo paused. Wow, that was a surprisingly difficult question to answer.

"Cerveza?" Carter asked, holding up a glass of beer.

"Ah, no. No, I shouldn't," Jo answered.

Carter's gaze was searching and Jo took a deep breath. She wasn't quite sure how to say this, where to start. Flat-out? Just jump right into it? Or maybe work her way around to it?

"Your pulse rate has accelerated abruptly, Jo, and my sensors indicate that your body is producing excessive amounts of cortisol." * S.A.R.A.H. sounded concerned as she continued, "A single beer poses no risk of fetal damage if that is the cause of your tension."

Carter choked on the sip of beer he'd just taken and started to cough.

Jo closed her eyes. That was one way to do it. And maybe even the easiest way. "Thanks, S.A.R.A.H.," she said wryly, "But I'm okay."

"Are you?" Carter asked, setting his beer down on the counter.

Jo nodded. "I am. I really am okay. Or were you asking if I was pregnant?"

"So, ah – okay, ah…"

Jo put him out of his misery quickly. "Yes. Zane. June. And…twins."

Carter picked up his beer again and took a hefty swig, then set it back down very carefully. "I could have guessed the Zane part. But the rest of it – wow. Uh, congratulations?"

Jo laughed. Then sobering, she said, "Talk to me about Zoe. I didn't really get a chance to see her before she went back to Harvard and we've emailed a few times but not about anything important. Is she – is this – "

"Forget Zoe. You're okay? Really okay?"

Jo shrugged. "I'm a little – I mean, I – okay, well, maybe this – all right, yeah, I don't know. But I think it's going to be okay."

"And Zane? Where is he?"

Jo didn't answer right away, thinking about how Zane had reacted. The idea of twins had thrown him for a little bit of a loop, and she'd been overwhelmed and distracted herself. But overall? Considering the circumstances? Really, his response had been nothing short of amazing.

"Dr. Donovan is currently in Dr. Fargo's office," ** S.A.R.A.H. interjected helpfully.

"I meant the question metaphorically, S.A.R.A.H.," Carter responded, with a slight shake of head at the literal mind of the AI. "Where is he with this news? How is he reacting?"

But S.A.R.A.H.'s answer had distracted Jo from the response she'd been formulating. "Fargo's office?" she asked, surprised. "What's he doing there?" She thought the question was rhetorical: she didn't expect S.A.R.A.H. to know the answer. As tied into the network as S.A.R.A.H. was, she still couldn't read minds.

"Based on the activity occurring on the computer network, I surmise that he is reading your personnel records."

"He's what?" Surprise became shock, mingled with annoyance. Cancel that amazing. What the hell? "Where's Fargo?"

"Dr. Fargo is also in his office. Perhaps he is the one reading your files?" It was obvious from S.A.R.A.H.'s hasty suggestion that she'd detected Jo's emotional reaction, but oddly enough, the idea that Fargo was reading her records with Zane didn't improve Jo's mood.

Pulling out her phone, she hit Zane's auto-dial number. Carter, trying not to smile, picked up his beer, and took another swallow.

"Hey, Jo." Zane's voice wasn't even wary.

"What the hell you do think you're doing?" Jo turned away from Carter and took a couple steps out into the living room.

"Ah…"

"Reading my personnel records? That's so creepy." Sure, she'd read his, but that was different. She'd been trying to figure out what was going on in a new timeline: what he was doing was an invasion of her privacy.

"Jesus, you and Fargo both? That's impressively paranoid. How did you know?"

Jo disregarded the first question, since she had no idea what it meant, and, crossing her fingers for the lie, answered the second, "I'm the head of security for GD. I know things. And if you want to know something, you could try asking!"

"You don't talk," he protested.

"I don't talk? Tell me if you recognize these words: 'let her do most of the talking, you don't really even have to listen?'"

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me. What, do you have me bugged or something?"

"Andy asked me if I thought you were right. And I told him no, that you were an idiot. You idiot! Now get the hell out of my records. "

"Jo—" he started to protest.

She sighed. "Meet me at my house. We'll talk." She paused. She'd been trying to keep things simple. Simple, ha. But they hadn't been spending nights together, just hours here and there. Maybe it was time that changed. "And bring your toothbrush."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, "On my way."

"Oh, and tell Fargo that I'm off duty for the weekend. I don't want to hear from him unless GD is actually burning down around him." Hanging up the phone, she shook her head.

As she turned back to Carter, he was already coming out of the kitchen, beer in hand. "I heard. You go. Don't worry about Zoe, and, Jo… congratulations. You know, if you ever need me, if you ever need anything –"

Nodding, she stepped close to him and he wrapped her in a quick, fervent hug. "My kids are going to be calling you Uncle Jack, I hope you know that."

On her way home, she made a quick stop at Café Diem. After she and Vincent exchanged greetings, she placed her order: dinner to go, for two.

"For two?" he raised an eyebrow, an open question, and she smiled, but didn't otherwise answer. He shrugged, accepting her silence, but as he disappeared into the kitchen, she eyed him speculatively. Hmm… She could maybe save herself a great deal of trouble.

When Vincent returned carrying a bag of warm food, Jo asked, "So Vince, how fast do you think you could spread some news around this town?"

"Is that a theoretical question or a practical?"

"Practical."

"News or gossip?"

"That might depend on your perspective, but let's call it gossip." Was this a terrible idea? Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It would save her from having the same conversation over and over and over again. And if she turned off her phone for the next couple of days, she could avoid people's initial reactions, let everyone get used to the idea before she had to start talking about it.

"You know Eureka, gossip travels at the speed of light. Especially if it's good. Got something fun for me?" Vincent leaned on the counter, and Jo grinned at him.

She could read his mind. She didn't really know how long Vincent had known that she and Zane were a little more than friendly, but she knew he knew. And that he'd kept their secret. Maybe giving him this was like a reward.

"So, ah, Zane and I…" she paused.

"She admits it!" Vincent eyes widened, mock-theatrically, and he started scrubbing at the counter with his dishtowel. "I think I can spread that news pretty quickly, if that's—"

"…are having twins," she interrupted him.

The dishtowel dropped from his hand, as his mouth dropped open in shock. "Are – are what?"

"You heard me." Picking up the bag, she leaned across the counter and kissed his cheek, then waved at him, a slight waggle of her fingers, and headed out. As she pushed open the door, she remembered and called back over her shoulder, "Due in June," leaving him still stupefied, staring after her, more shocked then when a fighter plane appeared in the middle of the restaurant.

* * *

><p><em>*I fear that I'm making S.A.R.A.H. a little too close to magic with the cortisol detection, but in Ep.3.04, she detects "an abnormal level of adrenaline in (Carter's) system" and so her sensors are obviously quite sensitive.<em>

_**And more miracle S.A.R.A.H.! But this time I'm basing her abilities on evidence from Ep.3.09, "Welcome Back, Carter" where she manages to crush Sheriff Andy despite the fact that he was in the middle of nowhere. She's obviously got some kind of ability to track people and robots._

_A/N: I'm not in love with this chapter, but it felt like it needed to happen. Fargo and Ivy will be back in the next one (and no, GD won't be burning down, but Fargo will wish he'd called Jo!) _


	5. The mad botanist

_A/N: I know this story is going slowly (much more slowly than my usual stories!) Three more days and I'm basically done with the hard parts of the semester and I will speed up, I promise. Loads of good stuff on the way (in my opinion, anyway - some of what I have planned so entertains me!) _

_Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy reading this half as much as I enjoyed writing it - and, as always, reviews are really nice! _

* * *

><p>"Achoo! Ah -<em>choo<em>!"

Larry was a dripping, bleary, sneezing, wheezing, red-eyed mess. Fargo took one look and stepped back hastily. He didn't want to catch whatever Larry had.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Larry had been fine earlier in the day. If this was the flu, it was fast acting. God, he hoped no one in GD had screwed up and released some bioengineered germ into the ventilation system.

Larry waved one hand in the air helplessly, as he tried to hold back another explosive sneeze, before failing, and letting go with an "Ah-ah-aaaah-_choo_!"

"Allergies," he whimpered. "Those plants in 12. I don't know what they are, but they're everywhere."

"Everywhere?" Fargo repeated, heart sinking. "Osbourne said he'd have them cleared up by now."

Larry shook his head as his body was wracked with another sneezing fit. Fargo took another step away from him, back into the doorway of his office. He'd been on his way out. Seven o'clock Friday night and he'd finally given up on clearing all the paperwork off his desk. The rest would have to wait until Monday, by which time it would have multiplied, reproducing over the weekend in the way that only paperwork and dirty dishes can.

"I can't find Ms. Kuna," Larry wheezed. "I was supposed to give her a ride to the bed and breakfast."

Great. Misplacing a DoD lackey? Just what Fargo needed to make his Friday night fun. And he'd been so looking forward to going home and playing a little Portal 2 from the comfort of his own easy chair. But he couldn't leave with a situation like this underway.

"Go to the infirmary and get a cortisone shot for the allergies. Then head home," Fargo said reluctantly. "I'll find Ms. Kuna and get her to the bed and breakfast." First, though, he'd find one of Henry's electrostatic filter sprays. The casein-based suspension would bind to any pollen in the air and prevent him from sharing in Larry's allergic response.

* * *

><p>Uh-oh.<p>

Green tendrils were snaking their way across the hallway floor. That was bad. Bad enough that they were there, but Fargo could almost swear he saw them growing as he looked at them.

Damn it, Osbourne was supposed to have fixed this problem.

A tight smile crossed Fargo's face. The explosion in Zane's lab had distracted him from the problem in 12 this morning, but he hated Osbourne, he really did. The burly scientist was an ass and a bully. In the old timeline, Osbourne had tortured Fargo, playing music at top volume day and night, spraying him with manure-based fertilizer, insulting his height, attacking him with a weed-whacker…generally making his life miserable. Fargo hadn't used his position in the new timeline to take revenge. He'd been secretly a little proud of himself for that. But if Osbourne was screwing up this big? Well, maybe it was time for some payback.

Fargo pulled out his phone and dialed, but before it even started to ring, he grimaced and clicked it shut, as he remembered that Jo was taking the weekend off. He could call Carter, of course – and nothing would make him happier than sending the sheriff to arrest the mad botanist – but he should at least find out whether Osbourne was still in his lab first.

Cautiously, taking care not to step on the vines, Fargo worked his way down the hallway. If he remembered correctly, the hallway that led to Osbourne's lab should be about halfway down. Osbourne used to work off-site, but after the disastrous events caused by his night-blooming necrosomnia violacia, followed by his research being destroyed when Dr. Lancaster opened a portal to the multiverse, he'd decided that working in GD was a little safer. Of course, that was before his research attempted to take over GD.

The vines were reaching toward the light, climbing the walls, interweaving amongst each other, their growth almost perceptible. At this rate, they'd fill Section 11, 12, and 13 before the end of the weekend – Fargo was going to need to get someone in here with some weed-killer ASAP.

He reached the door that he thought should open into the right hallway, and waited for it to open automatically. It didn't. He pressed his hand to the palm scanner on the right side of the door, frowning. The door shouldn't be locked. But there was no response to his handprint. Hmm…

For half a second, he thought about wedging his fingers into the crack in the door and trying to pull, and then he sighed. Turning to the palm scanner, he considered it carefully. Three minutes later, he had the cover off, the wiring re-routed, and was hooking up his phone to the interface. A pity he hadn't brought his tablet along – it would have saved him a little time. Using a phone pad was so inefficient compared to a keyboard. But another minute, and he had it. As the door slid open, he disconnected his phone and stepped into the hallway.

Briefly, too briefly, the thought occurred to him that as the Director of GD, he should probably have called security instead of simply hacking his way through the doorway into the corridor. If Jo had been on duty, she would have been furious to know that he was bypassing the security and –

"Hold that door!" The words were desperate.

Fargo glanced over his shoulder automatically, but it was too late, the door was sliding closed behind him. And even as he looked vines were growing over the door and the doorframe, leaves unfurling visibly, filling the space with their greenness.

"What the—" He was stunned by the speed. The plants in the hallway had been growing almost visibly; these plants were moving almost too fast to see. Within seconds, the door was a mass of green, as if there'd never been an entrance there at all.

"Damn it." If, earlier in the day, Ivy Kuna had looked like a 1950's movie goddess, now she looked more like the starlet from a B-movie horror film. Her blonde hair was loose, curling wildly around her face, and she'd lost her suit jacket somewhere, leaving her in a short red skirt and sleeveless black silk top. Her arms were scratched and bloody, and a long scratch across her face almost, but not quite, marred the perfection of her features.

"Oh, Osbourne is so going to pay for this," Fargo muttered.

"Nice thought," said Ivy bitterly. "You couldn't have held onto that door for one minute longer?"

"I didn't realize." Fargo tried not to look as sheepish as he felt. "From the outside, it just looked like a power problem."

"Yeah, I don't think it's a power problem." Ivy swallowed hard, her blue eyes watching the plants behind Fargo.

He glanced over his shoulder again. The vines were growing out, reaching toward them, tendrils hovering in the air, the leaves moving almost as if seeking, searching for something…

"Wow, that's kind of creepy," Fargo said, stepping away from the closest plant. "It's almost like they're looking for…"

"Prey?" asked Ivy, voice sarcastic. "Ya think?"

"That's not…" Fargo started, finishing weakly, "…possible."

"Oh, really?" Ivy snapped. "It's not possible that your installation is being taken over by carnivorous plants that are going to eat you alive sometime within the next few hours? Go tell that to the scientist in the room back there!"


	6. Caught in a spider's web

**Caught in a spider's web**

"Show me," ordered Fargo, glancing over his shoulder again. He knew of no experiments with carnivorous plants taking place at GD. But that didn't mean that some scientist – Seth Osbourne, perhaps? – hadn't gone renegade with his experimentation.

He followed Ivy down the hallway, stepping past her when she paused in a doorway.

"Holy –" He started into the room but she grabbed his jacket and pulled him back.

"You can't help him," she warned. "Not with bare hands. I tried."

Seth Osbourne was dangling from the ceiling, wrapped in vines, like a bug caught in a spider's web. His face was wet with sweat, red with pain. His eyelids fluttered at the sound of their voices and Fargo realized that he was barely conscious. His lips moved. Was he trying to say something? Fargo took a step closer.

"Not this way," the botanist mumbled. What the hell did that mean?

"This is bad," Fargo couldn't keep from stating the obvious. He pulled out his phone.

"Really? Ya think?" Ivy was still standing in the doorway, her attention half on the room, half on the activity in the hallway. Abruptly shaking her head, she stepped into the room and crossed to a computer on the other side of the room from the suspended scientist, warily keeping her eyes on the vines.

Fargo was waiting impatiently, listening to the ringing of the phone, watching Seth. The scientist's lips moved silently, and beads of sweat ran down his face. Jo's voice mail picked up and he started to leave a message. "Jo, listen, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm at GD and that jungle down in Section 12 is going crazy. I need you to send a security team, armed with machetes, probably, and maybe flamethrowers. The plants…"

_Whoop, whoop, whoop, whoop. _An alarm suddenly started sounding, and Fargo raised his voice to try to talk over it before realizing that his phone had just gone dead. Damn. The cell phone tower on the top of GD must have shut down as emergency protocols were activated. Cell phone signals couldn't make it through the walls of GD without it.

"Finally. That ought to get some attention." Ivy sighed with satisfaction.

"Oh, no. What did you do?" Fargo asked.

"Set off an alarm?" She looked at him as if wondering whether he was really as stupid as he seemed. "I've been trying to find a way to signal for help since I realized that I couldn't get him down by myself," she said, gesturing at Osbourne. "And that we were trapped and alone down here."

"Which alarm?" Fargo's voice was urgent, and he hurried across the room to look at the computer.

"The biohazard containment warning?" Ivy read the name aloud from the screen before he got there, sounding more tentative, and Fargo squeezed his eyes shut in dismay, before staring down at the screen himself, needing to confirm her words.

"Is that bad?" she asked. "Those plants seemed an awful lot like a biohazard that needed to be contained!"

"It's – " Fargo shook his head, trying to think. Emergency protocols, chain of command, alarm systems – the details were all running through his mind as he tried to wish the specifics of the biohazard containment system into being something other than they were.

"Tell me," Ivy demanded, putting one hand on his arm. "Was that wrong?"

Fargo put his hand over hers, trying to be reassuring. "No, no, it's just…" He looked at her, at her pale, worried and startlingly beautiful face, and for a moment he was tempted to lie. Did she really need to know this? It would just scare her.

Then he remembered: Ivy Kuna might be lovely, but she was one of the foremost mathematicians on the planet. In this timeline, she might be a simple accountant, but the brain would still be the same, and he was going to need her help.

"It wouldn't be a problem if I wasn't in here with you," he admitted. "And if the head of security wasn't taking some unexpected time off. But the biohazard containment requires mandatory evacuation, so everyone left in the building is getting out as quickly as possible. And it's a Friday night, so there might not be anyone to realize that there's no response underway until – "

A groan of pain interrupted him. Seth was writhing in the vines, head thrown back, face contorted in agony.

"Is he getting smaller?" Fargo asked, sickly fascinated at the sight.

"Losing weight? I think so," Ivy answered. "It's why I thought the plants were carnivorous. I think they're growing from…" her voice faltered for a moment, and then strengthened, "…from feeding on him."

"We've got to get him out of there," Fargo said, still staring.

Ivy held out her hands, mutely showing Fargo the bloody scratches and scrapes covering her lower arms. "The plant fights back. First it just pulled him away, up into the air, then it grew thorns. I tried to use my jacket to protect my hands, and it developed some kind of acid that ate through the cloth. And I think it made it worse for him. He didn't seem to be in pain before I started trying to get him free." She glanced back at Osbourne, and then looked away as if unable to bear the sight.

"All right." Fargo took a deep breath, and turned away from Osbourne. "We need to know what his research was meant to accomplish: I'm sure it wasn't this. Do you want to work on that, while I search for anything we can use against the plants? If Osbourne was growing the plants here, there's got to be gardening supplies somewhere."

"There must be some way to communicate with the outside world. Don't these offices have telephones?"

"You mean like landlines? No, everyone has smart phones." Fargo was already focused on the cupboards and supplies within reach. If he could find some ammonium nitrate fertilizer, maybe they could cause an explosion that could take out the vines by the hallway door, and get that door open again.

Ivy sighed. "All right, what am I looking for?"

"Anything about his research," Fargo answered, pulling open the nearest doors.

She sat in front of the computer, and for the next few moments they didn't speak as Fargo searched and she clicked away at the keyboard.

"This says he's working on some sort of leaf analysis system," Ivy reported. "A graphical user interface to help identify genes responsible for key leaf venation network traits? Something about plant phenomics?"

"Keep looking," Fargo replied briefly. "DARPA did support the development of software analysis tools for plants: I remember seeing the grant funding. But there's no way that could cause this."*

So far the cupboards within reach had held nothing interesting. He glanced up at the vines: Seth had fallen still again, his eyes closed, his face contorted in a grimace that drew white lines of pain across his cheeks and forehead. The vines were completely covering the other half of the room, and working their way through the ventilation system. It was obvious that the plants must have started to grow from over there: did that mean that any gardening supplies would be over there, too?

"When you first touched the vines, they were harmless?" he asked Ivy.

"Yes." She looked up from the screen. "You're not thinking of trying, are you?"

"Just to search over there." Fargo felt a stirring of panic and took a deep breath. It needed to be done. He needed to do it. No matter how much he hated the man, he couldn't just let Osbourne continue to suffer.

"Try everything on this side first," Ivy said. "Maybe one of the drawers has some hedge shears or scissors."

Was it being cowardly or sensible to acquiesce? He'd compromise – he'd work his way in that direction, opening every possible drawer along the way.

"I think I have something," Ivy reported. "Liana vines, structural parasites that are destroying trees in tropical rainforests. It looks as if he was trying to find a way to slow their growth through some kind of DNA modification."**

"To slow their growth?" repeated Fargo skeptically. "Okay, that's some research gone seriously wrong."

"Oh, weird." Ivy's voice dropped. "Human DNA? He's – this can't possibly be right. Plant-human cross-hybridization? He's deliberately mixed mitochondrial strains, but—"

With just a touch of relief, Fargo retreated from the vines and back to the computer. Looking over Ivy's shoulder, he skimmed as she scrolled down the files rapidly.

"Oh, there is no way that's been approved," Fargo said. "I would know. Human DNA experimentation? We do have an ethics review board. They're on the agreeable side, but – " He was shaking his head as he read. Oh, yeah, Seth Osbourne had been a very bad scientist. This research…

"How in the world did you get into these files?" he asked. He was surprised Seth even kept them on a GD computer. It wasn't that chimera research was unusual: scientists were doing all sorts of human-animal combinations, from mice with human brain cells to pigs with human blood to sheep that had human livers. There'd even been experiments with human and plant DNA.** But not unauthorized experiments. And not weight-loss experiments!

"I—" Ivy looked almost flustered. She blinked rapidly.

Fargo didn't notice. He continued reading. "The mitochondria convert the chemical energy from food into adenosine triphosphate, which causes cell division."

"So is the plant him? Is he turning into the plant?" Ivy asked.

"Or it's growing out of him," Fargo agreed, still reading as rapidly as he could.

"So when I was trying to set him free, it was actually – him?" Ivy's voice revealed her horror.

"I think so, yeah."

"Then how do we stop it?"

* * *

><p><em>* True! Apparently studying leaf vein patterns is important in helping to understand how plants respond to changing environmental conditions, and DARPA (the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, which would be the real group behind Eureka) did help fund the development of a software program called LEAF GUI, to analyze leaf patterns. How's that for a random fact? <em>

_**This would be a good research project, actually. Liana vines are destroying the trees in tropical rainforests, which could be a big deal for the global carbon cycle. Lianas include kudzu, honeysuckle, bittersweet and English ivy (which is how I stumbled upon this random fact!) _

_***Bizarrely, true, true, and true. At least all the animal combos are true, and the plant/human combo – well, I think that's what "Recombinant human AhR-mediated GUS reporter gene assays for PCB congeners in transgenic tobacco plants in comparison with recombinant mouse and guinea pig AhRs" means. If not, then call it Eureka science. :) _

_A/N: Science, science, science! I hope this chapter doesn't feel too much like you're reading the Wikipedia entry on quantum mechanics! _

_As always, reviews are nice. And the fact is, I don't yet know the answer to Ivy's last question, so suggestions are welcome, too! _


	7. It's always a lie

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed - the ideas and encouragement were very helpful! And special thanks to ZeroGain, who helped me figure out what Fargo might be feeling! _

"We keep reading," Fargo said. Reaching over Ivy, he started paging down through Osbourne's files. "Plant communication, vaccines, toxins, more work with that night-blooming necrosomnia violacia…wow, he was trying everything. I can't believe he didn't encrypt these files. I haven't seen someone messing around with this much unauthorized research since – "

"Wait," Ivy pushed his hand off the keyboard. She scrolled back up, clicking on and opening a folder that Fargo had skipped over. It was labeled "Black Velvet."

"Are you sure this is the right time to look at – oh." It appeared that Ivy had found Osbourne's actual experiment logs.

"There's a great bakery in DC that does a really amazing vegan chocolate Black Velvet cupcake,"* Ivy murmured, opening the most recent file.

"You thought it was food? I just thought Osbourne was—" Fargo shifted, slightly flustered. "Well, finding porn on his hard drive wasn't much of a shock." Should he have mentioned porn in front of her? Abruptly, he was reminded that she was an extremely beautiful woman and that extremely beautiful women made him nervous. He could feel the heat rising to color his ears.

"Cake," Ivy replied briefly, seeming oblivious to his embarrassment, scrolling through the files. "It's always a lie."

Fargo's mouth dropped open, just slightly, and he looked down at the top of her blonde head, amazed. She'd just made a video game reference. Beautiful, brilliant, and fluent in geek?

Wow. That was incredible. That was amazing. That was…wait. No, that was bad. She was a DoD lackey. An accountant. Grant's granddaughter. And he was about to get his heart broken, he just knew it.

Rapidly they skimmed the files and then, at just about the same time, looked back at Osbourne.

"Maybe he dropped it?" Ivy said doubtfully. According to his test results, he should have had a syringe of the antidote ready.

"He must have." Fargo took a deep breath. "It'll be on the floor by his feet. I'll go get it and inject him with it, and we'll have to hope it stops the plant growth. And that it's in time to save him."

"Wait," Ivy grabbed his sleeve, holding him back as he started to move. Pushing back the chair and standing, she said, "If you – if we're wrong and the plants attack you, I don't have any way of getting out of here. You have the best chance of escaping or finding some way to get help. Let me get the antidote."

"Okay, let me think about that for a minute," Fargo answered. Gently, he took her hand off his sleeve, and turned it over in his own, looking at the scratches, scrapes and acid burns along her arms. Somewhere along the way, she'd slipped out of her high heels, and standing flat on the ground, she was a little shorter than him, so his brown eyes were looking down into her blue. "No."

"But –" she started to protest, but he could hear the reluctance in her voice. She was volunteering for the job, but she didn't want to go near the vines any more than he did.

"If the vines grab me, hack into Seth's email and start sending emails to everyone at GD. You can do that just as easily as I can," Fargo suggested

Ivy licked her lips. "I don't know—"

He didn't let her finish the sentence. "I'm pretty sure you'll be able to figure it out. Besides, you're not going to need to. It's going to be fine."

Dropping her hand, he started to turn away, but before he could, she ran her hand up his arm, around to the back of his neck, and, with her fingers warm on his skin, stepped forward until the entire length of her curvy body was brushing against him, and pressed her lips to his.

It was over much too quickly.

"For luck," she whispered, retreating a step. "Be careful."

Fargo nodded, mutely, starting to move, almost without looking. Had that just – had she just – okay, focus, he ordered himself. Now was not the time to screw up. But he couldn't help the little smile that was playing around his mouth as he crossed the room.

"Wait," Ivy called after him. "The plants moved him when I started trying to get him free, so look a couple feet to the left."

"Got it," Fargo responded, watching the vines. Was their growth slowing? His approach wasn't causing any threatening movements from the leaves – a good sign. But from here he could see that although the vines wound and twined around each other, not all of the plants were connected to Osbourne.

If an experiment gone wrong had caused the morning's jungle – some kind of rapid plant growth when what Osbourne had been aiming for was the opposite – could Osbourne have panicked and decided to try to push ahead on his other, riskier experiments? It would be typical GD: paranoid scientist worried about redaction goes a little crazy trying to get results. But that might mean that some of the plants were harmless while others were dangerous. And remembering what Osbourne's records had said about toxins…well, dangerous might mean deadly. Fargo swallowed hard as he crouched, trying to avoid brushing against even the tiniest leaf as he searched the ground near Osbourne's feet.

"Nothing," he called to Ivy.

"Maybe it rolled?" she suggested.

He looked a little farther, and – there. There it was. A syringe, almost underneath a lab table, a solid five feet away from where Seth dangled. But, oh, hell, there was no way he could reach it without brushing against the vines.

He looked back at Ivy. She had one hand pressed against her mouth, the other clenched in a fist by her side. Then he looked at Osbourne.

He hated Osbourne, he really did.

Swallowing hard, he plunged forward, grabbed the syringe, and then scrambled to Osbourne's dangling legs. Oh, damn, his cheek was burning, and he could feel something touching him, touching his shoulder through his suit jacket. Pulling the cap of the syringe off, he looked desperately for bare skin, any spot that he could reach that wasn't covered with clothes or leafy tendrils, but the vines were all moving now, he'd caught their attention, and one was twining its way down Osbourne's body toward him. He shoved vine and pants leg up, ignoring the pain, although damn, touching the vine really hurt, his palm was on fire, and pressed the syringe against Osbourne's once meaty, now almost bony calf, pushing the plunger down.

Then, shaking his hand to try to sooth the pain or maybe shake the acid off, he dashed back across the room toward Ivy and the computer. She was watching the vines, eyes wide, and as he reached her, she started nodding. "It's working."

He turned to look. The vines closest to Osbourne were turning gray, as if hit by some fast-moving fungus, and as he watched, some of them began to crumble. "Damn it," he muttered, realizing what was going to happen, and with a sigh, he headed back to try to catch Seth when he fell. This time Ivy came with him and between them, the two of them managed to get Osbourne down and laid out on the floor.

The burly scientist was no longer burly. His skin looked gray and his breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Fargo looked at him uncertainly, wishing Alison were with them. He had no idea what else, if anything, could be done for Seth.

"We're still trapped," Ivy reported. She was looking at the vines. Some of them had fallen into dust, a gray ash-like substance, but others looked perfectly healthy, leaves green and vibrant, sprawling growth still covering the walls and extending out the doorway.

Fargo nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. "The jungle was here this morning and it wasn't growing out of Osbourne then, so it must be a different project. He should have been clearing it out but apparently he decided to test his other experiments." He sank back on his heels, trying to decide what to do.

Ivy glanced down at Osbourne. "The best thing for him would be to get him to proper medical care as quickly as possible," she suggested. "Shall we focus on getting out?"

"Or getting a message out," Fargo agreed, standing and heading back to the computer with relief, Ivy following him. "We need to make a sign, somehow."

"I've always liked 'slippery when wet' myself," Ivy murmured, her voice husky. Fargo glanced at her, startled, and she dimpled at him, her eyes wide and innocent.

Stepping close to him, she put her hand on his shirtfront. "You were very brave."

"Um, thank you," his voice squeaked, and he swallowed hard. She was – she was such a girl. Those curves were just so, so…curvy, and with the scooped-neck of her black shirt, he could see – he pulled his gaze away from her chest, flushing. But her lips were tilting up in a small, knowing smile, and her eyes were on his mouth, and her hand was stroking his tie, then she was putting one long finger in the knot and tugging, and now her mouth, it was so close to his, and then – then he was kissing her.

And this time, it wasn't over quickly.

Her mouth was warm and welcoming under his, her lips soft, and she tasted sweet and a little minty, and their kiss went on and on. Fargo's heart was racing as his lips and tongue explored, and he tentatively brought his hands to rest on her hips. She pressed against him, closer, tilting her head back, deepening the contact, and suddenly he realized that her fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt and he had no idea where his tie and jacket had gone.

He pulled back a little, trying to catch his breath, trying to think, and she pushed his shirt off his shoulders and then took his right hand, where it had been resting on her hip, and firmly pulled it up to cover her breast. He almost whimpered.

She was so soft, so beautiful, and she smelled so good, more pure girl now than the cinnamon and vanilla of earlier, but that was even more erotic. He let his lips roam feverishly over her cheek and down her neck, kissing, and nibbling, as her blonde curls tickled him, and over her shoulder, he saw the piles of gray dust, and there was something it reminded him of.

In a minute. He'd think about that in a minute, but Ivy was touching him, caressing his bare chest, and thinking was almost impossible – plants. That was it.

Something about plants.

Something about necrosomnia violacia.

He lifted his head, his hand still where she'd placed it, his fingers gently squeezing, while his thumb stroked, and tried to remember.

Necrosomnia violacia.

No inhibitions.

And he was wearing a filter, of course, Henry's casein-based electrostatic spray filter that bound to all pollens and spores so that he could deal with the plants without suffering from an allergic reaction like Larry, but she…

"Wait," he said, breathlessly, taking a step back. "Wait."

"Mmm, let's not," Ivy's smile was wicked, as she hooked her finger into the top of his pants and pulled him back again. "I've never liked waiting for what I want."

"It's the spores, damn it. The spores." He grabbed her hands, pulling them away from his skin, and holding them tightly between their bodies.

"The – what?" Ivy's words faltered as her smile disappeared.

"The spores. The necrosomnia violacia; Osbourne's stupid plant. It must be in the air." Fargo couldn't believe he was doing this. She was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, and she was throwing herself at him and he was…what was he doing?

"Are you saying no? To me?" She looked shocked. He was a little shocked himself. Apparently, that was what he was doing. He wouldn't have believed he had it in him.

"No, not – no – I mean, well, yes," he stammered. "I mean, not because I don't want to, but because –"

"Chief? You in there?" The shout came from the hallway.

The voice was unmistakable.

Larry was here to rescue them.

And the smell of burning leaves meant that he'd probably brought a blow torch.**

_*It's a mini-chain, actually, the Red Velvet Cupcakery, with shops in Arizona and Virginia, as well as DC. The cupcakes look yummy! _

_**For you, leogal! _


	8. Black eyes and best friends

_A/N: You didn't think I was going to leave Jo and Zane forever, did you? I'm way too much of a shipper for that! My footnotes in this chapter aren't scientific, just reminders of past events for those with shorter memories (like, um, me, I always have to go back and re-read to remember the details of what I wrote.) _

* * *

><p><strong>Black eyes and best friends<strong>

"Hey, I picked up dinner, are you hungry now or – what happened to you?"

Zane was starting to develop a nice black eye, the purpling of a fresh impact already deepening to the black of a bruise around his cheekbone.

"You picked up dinner," he responded, as if it were the answer to her question.

Jo reached up and pushed his chin gently, forcing his head sideways so she could get a better look. "That looks like it hurts."

"At least she didn't hit my nose," he answered gloomily. "I'd rather have a black eye than a broken nose. I guess today's my day to get beat up by girls, first Alison, then you, now…"* he faltered to a stop, seeing the look on Jo's face. "Women, I mean," he said, hastily. "Women."

"You got hit by a girl?" Jo's toe was tapping, and she'd crossed her arms, tucking her hands to the inside as if physically stopping them from making fists.

"Let's not go there." Gently, he took her by the shoulders and turned her around, facing her back into the house. "Let's go have dinner. Vincent said he made us that Serbian cevapcici."

Jo let herself be turned and started down the hallway. She suspected Vincent had been sending a not-so-subtle message with his choice of food: the lamb with paprika and garlic dish wasn't one of her favorites but Zane thought it was pretty awesome. Since, at the time, she hadn't admitted that the second dinner was for Zane, she would have considered herself warned if she'd still wanted to keep their relationship a secret. Fortunately, she didn't. And the distraction of the thought of food didn't work for long. "I want to know who hit you, Zane."

"Why? So you can go beat her up?"

"Well…" Jo untucked her hands. "I guess, yeah." It sounded stupid when he said it.

"No."

They'd reached the kitchen and Jo turned to face him. He sighed, looking at her worried expression. "It was my fault, okay?"

She frowned, and he took a step closer to her, and then gathered her into his arms. Holding her close, chin resting on her hair, he said, "Let it go, Jojo."

Her head tucked into his chest, feeling the warmth and comfort of his arms around her, she was almost tempted to pretend she would. But…she pulled back to look up at him. "You want to talk, right? You want me to tell you the things you'd know if – if the world was a different place?"

He nodded, looking a little wary.

"Okay, so if the world was a different place, you'd know I don't let things go." She pulled a little farther away, and he loosened his hold but didn't drop his arms. "I could pretend I would, but I won't. I'll just be worrying about it and trying to figure it out and wondering why you won't tell me and making myself crazy. And eventually, we'd have a big fight about it, maybe more than one, and you'd sulk and probably I wouldn't see you for a couple days, and then I'd get mad about that and…"

"Okay, okay." He put a finger up to her lips to stop her. "Are you going to go from not talking to not letting me get a word in edgewise?"

She smiled at him, although her eyes were still serious. "You should be careful what you ask for. In a different world, one where – " She shook her head, realizing that she couldn't say what she'd been thinking, not now, not that, and started over, trying to keep her voice casual. "In a different world, I'd kick your butt for that."

Zane had seen the pause. "One where what?"

She bit her lip, then shrugged.

"All right, I'll tell you if you'll tell me," he offered.

She looked up at him. Ouch. That was a hard bargain. Was she willing to take that kind of chance? Well, she could think about what to say. "You first."

With a one-shouldered shrug and a self-deprecating grin, he said, "You picked up dinner. I didn't know. I stopped by Café Diem to do the same and – I didn't expect the world to know about the twins. I guess I wasn't ready to answer questions."

Jo raised her eyebrows. She hadn't considered the ramifications of telling Vincent from Zane's perspective and she probably should have, but still, how did that lead to a black eye?

She waited, until he sighed and continued, "I didn't like the - well, I got annoyed at the implication that my kid…kids…our kids," he self-corrected until he found the description that satisfied him and then went on, "…were an accident. They're not an accident, just a surprise. Okay, a big surprise. But so anyway, I was maybe kind of misleading about, you know, timing, and when we'd first gotten together, and when we'd gotten serious, and that kind of thing. And so maybe I gave the impression that we'd-" He kept talking but Jo's brain had stopped at 'when we'd gotten serious'. It was – well, she was having the same reaction she'd had when he called her sweetheart at GD**, a tiny thrill of delight running up and down her spine, while her logical brain tried to suppress it firmly. His words didn't mean anything, he was just talking about a lie he'd told.

"So she hit me and I can't say as I blame her, not really. If I had been serious about you when I went out with her, I'd have deserved it. All right. End of story. Your turn."

Jo's phone rang and she glanced toward where it sat on the kitchen counter. Zane grabbed her arm. "No," he said firmly. "Mine first. I just spilled my guts, you get to do the same. I already made one crappy bargain today."***

Jo looked questioning, but he just shook his head. "Your turn," he repeated.

"I…" she started, but didn't know how to continue.

"In a different world, one where…" he prompted her, and his voice was soft, and his hand on her arm was warm, and Jo felt that prickle in her nose and eyes that meant she was going to have to fight tears.

"In a different world, one where I wasn't so scared," she admitted, voice low and husky, eyes on his t-shirt. "Losing you was –" She looked up at him, at that beloved face, so familiar, and yet different, and started over, backing up a little so that he could maybe, possibly, even if just kind of a little, understand what losing him had meant.

"We fought all the time, we fought about stupid stuff, and then we laughed at the same stuff. And then we fought some more. When you proposed, I froze because I was scared, but then I lost you and I realized how…" She took a deep breath, and went on, looking away from him again. "…how much I needed you. You were my best friend, and I missed you. I missed you so much. Losing you was - " Her voice broke a little, as she tried to find the words.

"I made a deal with God the night you, well, you know. Asked that question." Somehow, in the midst of this confession that felt so incredibly intimate, Jo found her cheeks going slightly pink at the memory of that night. "If I just let things happen and didn't push and prayed every day, he'd give you back to me."

"There's no such thing as God, Jojo," Zane's voice was gentle as he pulled her closer to him.

"Do you really want to argue about that –"

"Or if there is, he's a total cheat," Zane interrupted her, talking over her words. "You already had me. I was the one asking the question. And you were already pregnant, too. I mean I think the bases were covered."

Jo looked up at him, and let her hands slide up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down to her and letting her lips meet his, ready to let the pleasure wash over her.

And the phone rang.

And kept ringing.

She pulled away. "Dammit, let me just turn the stupid thing off."

She grabbed it, glancing at the screen. "Oh, hell." Her heart sank. It wasn't a real call; it was an automated system warning to the head of security. A biohazard containment warning. Damn. "I've got to go to GD."

"What? Why?"

Jo passed him the phone while she looked around, trying to decide what she'd need. She'd changed into casual clothes when she got home but that was okay, for a biohazard she probably didn't want to be wearing a business suit anyway. She probably wouldn't need a weapon, although being armed was always comforting in scary situations, but she might want her tablet for some quick research.

"Jo, you can't go."

"I have to," Jo shrugged. It wasn't as if she wanted to, but it was her job.

"Um, biohazard containment warning? What about the babies?" Zane didn't sound mad, just worried.

"Oh." Jo put her hand on her abdomen. Wow, she'd forgotten all about the little guys. "Right. Huh." She looked up at Zane and smiled, a little weakly. She probably shouldn't admit that. But apparently it was going to take a little longer to get used to the idea of babies.

The next several minutes passed quickly as she tried to call Fargo, checked her voice mail and heard his message, attempted to reach the security station, pulled up the GD protocols for biohazard containment, and finally followed the protocol instructions.

"I feel really weird about this," she admitted to Zane, closing her phone.

He grinned at her. "You're following the rule-book, Jojo, you should like that."

"I know but – Larry?"

"Mandatory evacuation. No security personnel left in the building. Biohazards have to be investigated by staff personnel with a scientific background. That's what the rules say." Zane's grin was even wider.

"I know but – Larry?"

"You've made his day," Zane said, pulling her close. "He's always wanted to be the hero, now he gets a chance. And if GD's still standing on Monday, we'll all get to say thank you to him."

"The day I say thank you to Larry for anything – " Jo started snappishly, and then she paused, leaning back and looking intently into his face. "You just said that to make me mad, didn't you?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he agreed, chuckling.

"Why?" she asked plaintively.

"Well, we haven't fought yet. Not really."

"Not at all," Jo said. "I've been being very – well, you'd know if we'd fought. We haven't."

"But apparently, in a different world, I like fighting with you so much that I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing it, right?"

"Um, yeah?" Jo's voice made the answer a question. Where was he going with this?

"So is it the fighting or the make-up sex? Or both? I figured I ought to find out."

He grinned at her, his blue eyes warm, and Jo, laughing almost helplessly, leaned into him and whispered, right before she took his mouth with her own, "Let's go straight to the making up."

* * *

><p>* In <em>That Kiss<em>, first Alison kicks Zane, then Jo punches him. He says he'll have bruises.

** _Two Sides to Every Story_

**If you're reading the whole thing in real time, you probably know what he's talking about, but if you read Ch4, _Conversations_ weeks ago, he's talking about his deal with Fargo – he spent hours researching Ivy, but didn't wind up getting to read Jo's records after all.


	9. Happy and notsohappy thoughts

_A/N: Yes, I am playing with Batman clichés! And – not that it matters – I always intended to, and I expect to have fun with them. If you object to Batman clichés, it's okay not to read, my feelings will not be hurt. _

_For those of you who are willing to play with some Batman _clichés_ , thanks for reading! This story is, per chapter, by far the least reviewed story I've written, and by traffic count, by far the least read story I've written, so I'm thinking that those of us who love Fargo are few and far between. (And/or too much Science!) But I'm having fun with him so I hope you are, too!_

* * *

><p><strong>Happy and not-so-happy thoughts<strong>

_Several months later_

"You're scaring the plants, Fargo."

Looking up from the papers he'd been reading, Fargo sighed. Jo's voice had interrupted his concentration, but she was right: the leaves on the small potted plant sitting on the corner of his desk were drooping. Closing his eyes, he tried to think happy thoughts – Steve Austin lunchboxes, that time he beat Kevin at Halo Reach, and ComicCon with Claudia. When he opened his eyes, the plant was unfurling a new leaf in his direction.

"Whoops, a little too much there," Jo said, voice calm. Fargo looked across the room to the seating area, with its white leather couches and chairs. A ficus plant was stretching its branches toward Jo, trying to caress her. She gently pushed the leaves back, away from her mound of belly. Her feet were propped up on the table, and in that position, she looked particularly round and not terribly comfortable.

"We could get you a footstool for your office, you know," Fargo suggested.

"Mmm, but then I'd have to be in my office. People could find me. I might have to work." She yawned.

"You know, technically, I think I am your boss. You probably shouldn't say stuff like that to me."

"You know, technically, I am pregnant with twins. If you're mean to me, I'll cry and then you'll feel bad. It'll be a whole thing." Given the content of her words, her tone was remarkably cheerful.

Jo had always been scary in her own way, but Jo pregnant was scary in an entirely different way. She had an imperturbable serenity that barely disguised a terrifying willfulness, as if killing anyone who bothered her would be a momentary inconvenience, nothing more. Fargo had asked Alison about it and Alison had just laughed and responded, "Hormones, Fargo, hormones."

Still, Fargo treasured the memory of watching Jo tell Mansfield that she was pregnant and that Zane was the father. She'd been wearing a small smile; Mansfield had inhaled like he was about to explode, then took one look at her steady eyes, and folded immediately, meekly congratulating her. He'd probably send a nice present when the babies were born, too. He was no fool: if Jo had been as deadly as a tiger before, now she was deadly more like a bear. A mama bear. And not some little black bear – a mama grizzly or polar bear. She might look big and slow, but only an idiot would get in her way.

"So why were you upset?" Jo asked.

Fargo grimaced. This new relationship he had with plants had its frustrating moments. Last week, he'd caught a scientist watching a palm tree in the back of the room while he was supposed to be presenting on his research, as if the insight into Fargo's reactions would let him know what to say. And Fargo would never be able to play poker again: not that he'd ever been a great poker player, but at his first good hand, every plant in the room would throw out new shoots.

"I got the final report from the private detective."

"The one you hired in D.C.?"

"Yeah."

"Nothing?"

"It's like she took that first flight out of Eureka and fell off the face of the planet."

"But it still looks as if she chose to go, right?" Jo swung her feet to the floor, sitting up with an effort.

Fargo sighed. It had been a little crazy in the chaos after Larry's rescue. They'd managed to shut down the biohazard alert, and gotten medical personnel in to get Osbourne and Ivy up to the infirmary. Then he and Larry had worked with a security team to clear out the plants, mostly using machetes, although Larry's blow-torch did come in handy now and again. By the time Fargo had gotten up to the infirmary, Ivy was gone – he thought to the bed and breakfast.

The next day, it turned out that she'd gone back to DC. The injuries to her arms and hands were extensive enough that the doctor on duty – not Alison – thought she ought to take a few days off and she'd decided she'd rather take them at home. He'd had no reason to say no, and had helped her arrange travel back to DC on a military flight.

Fargo had been disappointed, but not worried. After all, she'd be back in a week. He could wait.

Only the week came and went and when he finally asked Mansfield about the accountant, Mansfield had no idea what he was talking about. Fargo was in a precarious position: he didn't want to do anything to make Mansfield suspicious, in any way, about anything that was happening or had happened in Eureka.

But at the same time – they'd had word from the DoD that an accountant would be auditing their files and suddenly no one knew anything about it? That couldn't be good. At the very least, it meant that someone had hacked some files, because there was no longer any record of an accountant being ordered to Eureka. Fargo suspected that he knew who.

And then there were the plants…

Osbourne had been unconscious for weeks. His DNA modification had been scarily simple: lipids converted to vegetation. But lipids – fat – are an essential element for life. The dry matter of the myelin sheaths that insulate nerves and allow impulses to move along the fibers are composed of at least 70% lipids. Losing those lipids mimicked the effects of demyelination, the hallmark of neurodegenerative autoimmune diseases like multiple sclerosis.* For days, Alison hadn't been sure whether he'd recover at all.

They still weren't sure whether he entirely had. Cognitive disruption, including memory loss, is one of the many symptoms of demyelination. Osbourne remembered his rapid-growth experiments. He remembered his weight-loss experiments. He didn't remember anything he'd done that could have caused Fargo's new empathetic ability with plants (which was, fortunately, a one-way street running from Fargo to the plants.) And he emphatically swore, absolutely, positively, no kidding, that he hadn't done anything with his necrosomia violacia plants, which was a question that only Fargo seemed to really care about.

So, where did that leave Fargo? Well, plants now felt his moods, and responded. If he was down, they drooped. If he was cheerful – as he usually was – they flourished. And when he was really excited? They grew. Rapidly.

It wasn't that the plants literally understood his moods: the scientists working on researching the problem swore it had to be a chemical process. They suspected that he was giving off volatile cues, by secreting a hormone or enzyme, maybe a polyphenolic compound, to which the plants were extremely sensitive. ** And they knew it must have been caused by his exposure to the acid created by Osbourne's other experiments, because of the rapid growth factor, and because the change seemed to be permanent, which implied DNA modification. In fact, from the perspective of the botany department, Osbourne had achieved something incredibly cool – one scientist had actually begged Fargo to let them re-run the entire experiment in order to try to replicate its effects.

Unfortunately, Osbourne himself – probably because of the cognitive loss caused by the demyelination – had no idea what he'd done or how he'd done it. And no one had any idea of how to reverse it.

And meanwhile, if Fargo's exposure to the plants had caused this change in him, what had it done to Ivy? Finding her was more than just a question of tracking down a missing accountant who apparently had never been supposed to be at GD in the first place. But Ivy hadn't just left Eureka – she'd disappeared entirely.

"Yeah, the private investigator confirmed that she packed up her apartment and let her landlord know that she was leaving before she disappeared," Fargo finally answered Jo's question.

"So why are you so worried, Fargo? She knows where we are. If she's having the same kind of problems you are, wouldn't she come back?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "The only explanation I can come up with for why she was supposed to be here, and then she wasn't, is that she hacked the records because she didn't want to come back."

"It'd be tough to blame her for that. Her first day on the job was pretty rough. But still, hacking the DoD? It's not exactly the work of a simple accountant."

"We've talked about this before. She broke the security on Seth's computer like it wasn't even there. And I asked him later: he was stupid enough to run unauthorized chimera experiments, but not so stupid that he didn't use the best encryption he could manage on his files."

"So you're worried, because-?"

"Because she's Grant's granddaughter?" he offered. "Because she's not living the life she was supposed to live? Because she hasn't used a credit card, a bank account, or shown up on a computer list that the government can access in months? Because—"

_Because she kissed me and it wasn't that she was affected by plant spores? _

_And because I liked her – how brave she was when she offered to get the syringe and how sarcastic she was when I let the door close and how smart she was about the cake and how incredibly beautiful she was and how when she kissed me – _

"Cut it out, Fargo," Jo's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"Wow," he said, looking at the plant on his desk. "I didn't realize that was a flowering plant."

Jo pushed herself to her feet. "I bet Alison didn't either." Crossing the room, she scooped up the flowering bromeliad, and tucked it under her arm. "You're better than fertilizer and sunlight. Alison will be very happy to have her houseplant back in such great shape." The words were flippant but Jo's eyes were sympathetic.

Fargo tried to smile. Okay, so maybe he'd been just a little obvious there. But he was worried about Ivy and not just because she was beautiful.

* * *

><p><em>* Yep, all that is true science. Okay, not the part about converting the lipids into plant-life – you just know you'd be seeing ads for that all over the internet if that worked. But the parts about lipids being essential for life and transmitting nerve impulses and the loss of them causing demyelination, including multiple sclerosis – all that is true. <em>

_**Plants actually can communicate with one another this way. Research (cited in American Scientist magazine, if you care enough to look it up, Wikipedia for once didn't help me out) showed that tomato plants produced compounds protective against insect attacks when exposed to damaged sagebrush plants, as if the tomatoes had some way of learning from the sagebrush. Obviously, though, when not in Eureka, the real responses take months of slow growth to measure. _


	10. A gun? How retro

**A gun? How retro**

The plants were going insane.

Fargo pulled his car to a stop outside his house, but didn't get out. He hadn't noticed earlier, but had his grass really been a foot high when he left for work?

His house was a shabby little bungalow on the outskirts of town, with forest on one side, fields on the other, and a tiny yard in front. It didn't really fit his image as Director of Research at GD, and he'd thought about moving, but it was comfortable and familiar and he just hadn't gotten around to it. But maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention to it. Had the trees on the forest edge really been so close before? And the shrubs out front – they had grown to reach almost the top of the long porch railing that extended the length of the house. When had they gotten so big?

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Tabby, was the grass this high this morning?"

"The grass?" Tabitha, Fargo's smart car, asked. "I'm afraid that recording the length of vegetation isn't part of my observational parameters, Douglas. Would you like me to add it for the future?"

"No, that's okay." Fargo frowned.

Today had already been a long day: he and Zane had been called into an emergency consultation with the head of the National Institute of Standards and Technology and the director of the NSA. There had been some major security breach with the AES ciphers, the mandatory encryption standard for the federal government.* The director was unwilling to share the details, but they were considering expediting the review process for a new encryption standard, and wanted to learn more about the algorithm Zane had developed.

You don't say no to the director of the NSA when you work for the DoD, but for Zane, it meant missing Jo's latest check-up, one where they might finally learn the sexes of the babies. And trying to make an annoyed Zane behave respectfully in front of the bigwigs – well, Fargo had been wracking his brain trying to imagine what Stark would do. For once, it hadn't been helpful. If Stark had told Zane to shut up and behave, Zane might, just possibly, have listened. Fargo didn't have the same power.

He'd been on his way home before he realized that he'd taken totally the wrong tack: Stark wouldn't have tried to make Zane behave, he would have told the bigwigs that with genius came privilege and if they wanted the algorithm, they'd put up with the attitude. Remembering it now, he sighed. Well, he'd know what to do next time.

But could the plants around his house have responded to his frustration from miles away? That would be a new level to his plant problem and not one that he'd be happy about. He didn't have time to mow the lawn every other day. Getting out of the car, he said an absent-minded farewell to Tabitha and headed up his walkway, eying the plants as he went.

It didn't make sense, he was thinking as he unlocked the door. He'd spent a lot of time with the biologists over the past few months tracing out plant responses to his physiological cues. Epinephrine** and endorphins caused surges in plant growth: well, not those hormones specifically, but whatever polyphenolic compound he gave off when those hormones raced through his system. And he'd been frustrated earlier, sure, but frustration – or rather, the excess cortisol it caused – usually resulted in drooping leaves. If the plants were responding to his mood, his yard should have yellowed. But either way, how could they respond to a chemical signal from miles away? It just didn't…

"Where the hell is my money?"

There was a gun pointed at his chest. Fargo put his hands up defensively. A gun? How retro.

Ivy's hair was red. He liked it better this way, Fargo noted automatically. And she wasn't dressed in a professional, dress-to-impress power suit, but a V-necked black sweater and black pants. He liked those better, too. Despite the gun, she looked softer. Less scary.

Except she also looked really, really pissed.

"Ah, no idea what you're talking about," he answered, taking a couple of steps farther into the room.

"Don't bullshit me," she snapped.

"Really, no idea what you're talking about." Fargo was trying to imagine what Dr. Stark would do in this situation. Coming home to a woman with a gun waiting in his living room? He would have had a snappy response, Fargo was sure. Unfortunately, Fargo was just Fargo. It'd be just like earlier – he'd think of the right response three hours later.

"I'm not an idiot." The click as she snapped off the safety on the gun resonated. Fargo swallowed hard. This wasn't how he'd pictured meeting her again.

"Seriously, what money are we talking about?"

"My money! I set up a perfectly nice little program to funnel money out of GD and into a Caymans bank account, and you fucked with it."

"Ah, nope, not me." Fargo felt like there was a light sheen of sweat covering his face, but at least he wasn't looking guilty. Embezzling? No, that hadn't even been on his top ten list of what Ivy might have been up to. His best guesses of her motives had all revolved around her grandfather: that she wanted to find out what had happened to him, or more about him, or simply see the place he had so much responsibility for creating. As a motive, money had never occurred to him.

"Then it was that idiot Donovan. Nobody else is good enough."

"Zane?" Fargo shook his head. "He's got a lot going on these days. I don't think he's stealing from the government."

"Stealing. That's such an ugly way to put it. I see myself as more of a one-woman appropriations committee." Ivy tossed her head and the red curls bounced.

"That sounds as if you've done this before," Fargo said, a little tentatively, adding a questioning tone. He supposed he ought to be asking what she was doing in his living room with a gun, but curiosity had always been his besetting sin. And he was very, very curious about Ivy Kuna.

"Our government has spent over a trillion dollars on war in the past decade so, yeah, I decided a while ago that some of that money could be put to better use,"*** Ivy's tone was defiant, until she added, with a twist of her mouth,"I should have realized that this place would be riskier than Iraq. How did you know?"

Fargo shrugged. "I didn't know anything."

She glared at him. "Don't play a player, Dr. Fargo. You told me to hack the email system: why would you think I could do that? You should have thought I was just a number-cruncher."

"Osbourne screwed up big-time, but he's not an idiot. He had to have encrypted his files, which means you'd already broken his encryption. If you could do that, the email system wouldn't have been all that hard." Fargo took a few more steps into the living room and Ivy's gun swiveled to follow him.

"I thought that had to be it, but – " Ivy shook her head. "Damn it. One little slip. Well, the risk seemed worth it at the time." Her chin firmed with determination. "But now you have to get me into GD."

"Into GD?" Fargo rubbed the back of his neck. If he was going to get shot, he'd almost rather get it over with in his living room. It had been a long day, and he didn't want to go back to work.

"I just need access to the computers. Two hours in your office to figure out what went wrong and get rid of any traces, and then we walk out. We come back here, I lock you up, and with a little head-start, I'll be long gone by the time anyone starts looking for me. No one needs to get hurt."

Fargo wondered if he should tell her that it wouldn't happen that way. If she walked through security at GD carrying a gun, she'd be in handcuffs within minutes. And if she didn't bring the gun – well, every botanist working on the plant problem wanted access to the other potential victim. Once the security system identified her, and it would, she'd be a government lab rat before she could blink.

But…he was the head of GD. If he told her that she couldn't get into GD safely, he'd be aiding a criminal.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked abruptly.

"I – which time?" Ivy looked away from him, then back, and her full lips curved up in a flirtatious smile that didn't match the look in her eyes.

"Both."

Voice sultry, Ivy started, "Why, Dr. Fargo, I was just overcome by your…" Outside the window, Fargo could see leaves climbing up the glass.

"What's the point of trying to play me?" Fargo interrupted her.

Ivy dropped the smile. "Everybody plays each other. That's all anybody ever does. We play parts."

"Okay," said Fargo patiently, "But you're holding a gun on me, which means you win." He shrugged. "So why not tell me the truth? I thought it was spores from one of Osbourne's plants, but he claimed that there was no necrosomnia violacia in his lab."

Ivy looked at him steadily, then shrugged, and said impatiently, "Fine, I kissed you because I was trying to play you. And the point was to distract you from the hacking. Happy now?"

Fargo couldn't tell what his face would reveal to her, but happy wasn't quite the word he would have chosen. Still, she'd answered him. He gave her a slight nod, and said, "So, let's go to GD and let you get your hacking over with."

Turning, he reached for the door.

"The second time, anyway," Ivy said from behind him, her words almost reluctant. "The first was because I was grateful. You really were very brave."

He paused, hand on the doorknob. His decision had just gotten harder.

_*That is the encryption standard, but as far as I know, it's actually rock-solid. I'm just breaking it for my own convenience. _

_**I actually feel suspicious of Wikipedia on this one, but apparently medical professionals in the United States no longer refer to adrenaline: it's called epinephrine here. But if you're British, you can still think of this hormone as adrenaline._

_***A trillion plus. The numbers are so big, they're hard to imagine, but for some perspective, 5% of that money ($50 billion) could have bought a new house for every single home lost in Katrina. Less than 1% ($8 billion) could have gotten 10 years of clean water for every human being on earth who lacks it. _


	11. Happy Thoughts

_A/N: I don't know why exactly, but this chapter was ridiculously hard to write. I'm quite sure it took more time per word than I've ever spent on a chapter before - even the really tough science filled ones! Anyway, many thanks to ZeroGain and Allyrien for their beta help, and many thanks to the people who have reviewed. I'm pretty sure that this story would be forever unfinished were it not for your kind words! _

* * *

><p><strong>Happy thoughts<strong>

"I really thought you were looking for information about your grandfather." Dr. Fargo's words sounded casual, but to Ivy, following him out to the car, they hit with the punch of a personal attack.

"What?" She paused, one hand on the car door. She was already nervous, her heart racing. Guns were not her thing. And this plan – it wasn't her style. She liked subtle, discreet. The perfect crime, as far as she was concerned, was the one that no one ever even noticed.

She'd had a good deal going at the DoD. Oh, she'd hated the job when she'd first taken it. But after the first few months, when she realized how crazily incompetent the system was, she'd had a fine time quietly shuttling military money to, in her opinion, more worthwhile causes – UNICEF, Doctors Without Borders, Childreach, the American Red Cross, the Acumen Fund, Kiva, charity: water. (Although she did regret the hefty donations to the Central Asia Institute.)*

Unfortunately, government losses in Iraq and Afghanistan had gotten a little too much publicity. Moving on had started to seem like a good idea. All she wanted was one last big score, and Eureka – an ultra-top secret facility with an insanely high-budget – had looked like a perfect target. $2.9 billion on a robot? They'd never notice a few missing millions.

"Your grandfather?" Dr. Fargo said, from the other side of the blue car. "Trevor Grant?"

Ivy scowled at him. "Why would you know anything about my grandfather?"

He looked puzzled. "Famous scientist? Founder of Eureka? I've lived here my whole life, you know. If you go to Tesla High, you learn about the founders."

"What are you talking about?" Ivy was truly confused. "I never met my grandfather. I don't know anything about him."

"How did you learn about Eureka, then?"

She shrugged. "I overheard a guy talking in the cafeteria." She smiled slightly at the memory. He'd been cute – and oh, so stupid. She hadn't even needed to hack his system. A little casual flirtation, a quick peek under his keyboard when his back was turned to find the sticky note with his password scrawled on it exactly where she'd expected it to be, and voila, access to a treasure trove of documents. He'd been an assistant to some general and the Eureka files had been fascinating.

A week later, she'd sent GD notification of her arrival, cut herself orders to get on a military plane, and shown up at the site. It had been almost too easy. But then the great thing about ultra-top secrets sites is that no one knows enough to be suspicious. If you act as if you know where you're going, people assume you are where you're supposed to be. She'd charmed her way into Fort Knox for fun once – by comparison, Eureka was Main Street, USA.

And the job should have been easy. She had a handy little program all ready to go. In a place this big, purchase orders flew in and out like bats from Bracken Cave in Austin. Her program added a minuscule service charge to each one: a fraction of a percentage point. The money would flow straight into the numbered bank account she'd opened in the Cayman Islands. If she hadn't panicked, she would have waited quietly in DC, tracking the balance until the number satisfied. Then she would have shut off the pipeline, using her rootkit** to access the system remotely and wiping all traces of it from the system. But when she realized that if the losses were detected, Fargo might suspect her, well, getting out of Dodge – or in her case, DC – had seemed like the better part of valor.

It was all the fault of those damn plants. They'd scared her. She'd had nightmares about being attacked by vines ever since. And there were times – well, she was almost embarrassed to admit this, even to herself, but sometimes lately she felt as if the plants around her were moving, growing and stretching toward her, as if they truly were predators and she their prey.

Of course that was ridiculous. It was just her imagination.

She'd always had a vivid imagination.

"Well, your grandfather was one of the founders of the town, back in the 1940's." Dr. Fargo was looking at something over her shoulder and Ivy frowned at him. She was not going to turn around to look. It was much too obvious a trick.

"How do you know who my grandfather was?"

Really, she shouldn't be blaming the plants. She should be blaming the man standing in front of her: he was too damn smart. It was annoying. He'd treated her like an equal from the start. He'd never underestimated her. And he'd turned her down flat when she threw herself at him. If only he'd been a little less perceptive, a little less observant, she might still be safely ensconced at the DoD.

Damn him.

Maybe she should have put bullets in the gun after all.

But guns just weren't her style.

Flirting. That was her style. And more than flirting? Well, only if it looked like fun.

This should have been so easy: Dr. Fargo had a sweet earnestness that Ivy rather liked. If he'd fallen for her, she would have spent her weeks here teaching him everything he'd ever wanted to know about female anatomy. Sure, it would have been manipulative on her part – she hadn't been lying when she said she was trying to play him. But they would have had a good time. And while she would have walked away a lot richer, he would have waved good-bye with a happy (if confused) look on his face.

Instead…this mess.

"We ran a background check on you. And honestly, I'm going to give Zane a hard time about missing the bank account in the Caymans: he should have caught that."

"What? You ran a background check on me?"

"Um, you need to calm down," Fargo said.

"What? No. No, I don't!" Bad enough that he'd screwed up her perfectly straightforward plan. Investigating her? "You invaded my privacy!"

"No, seriously," Fargo said. "I'm not sure whether technically you even have a right to privacy when you work for the DoD, or, you know, claim to work for the DoD. But we can argue about that later. Either way, right now, you need to be thinking happy thoughts."

Ivy stared at him. "Happy thoughts? Yeah, that's not going to happen. I am not happy. I am out millions of dollars and I'm pissed."

"Okay, but—" For the first time since they'd reached the car, his eyes moved to meet hers, "—you can be pissed later. Right now, you're upsetting the plants. And that's not a good idea."

"What?" Ivy looked behind her. The trees were moving as if a storm were hitting, branches tossing and leaves fluttering as if the wind were picking up. But she could feel no wind. She looked back at Fargo.

He nodded at her. "Happy thoughts," he suggested again.

"What is wrong with the plants in this town?" It wasn't just the trees. She could almost see the blades of grass nearer her growing, reaching out toward her feet. "Oh, God." She fumbled for the door handle.

"Where have you been, the Arctic?" Fargo asked as he got into the car.

"Right, living in the Fortress of Solitude. Because I'm Lex Luthor." Ivy buckled her seat-belt, still focused on the plant life outside the car and the way the greenery was moving.

"Um, actually that's Superman's base," Fargo corrected her as he started the car.

Ivy rolled her eyes and glared at him. "No, I haven't been in the Arctic. What the hell is wrong with the plants in this town?" Her last sentence was almost a scream. This was like one of her nightmares. Could she be asleep? She pinched herself. Hard. No, not sleeping.

"Well, most of the botanists think it's chemical," Fargo said. "I was wondering about quantum entanglement recently, though. Maybe I should talk to a physicist."

"Entanglement? When atoms are linked? And a change in one causes a change in another, even over a huge distance?"**

"Yeah, exactly." He looked pleased with her, and she glared at him.

"What the hell does that have to do with plants?"

He'd pulled out of the driveway and onto the curving, tree-lined road, but if anything, the trees were getting worse. Leaves and branches swayed, and Ivy could hear the creaking of bending trunks even from inside the car.

"This is bad," Fargo muttered, just as a tree branch came crashing down almost on top of them. "You really have to calm down."

"We're being attacked by plants. This is like a bad dream. A seriously bad dream!"

"Tabby, can you shut off the ventilation system in the car?" Fargo asked urgently.

Ivy's eyes widened as a female voice answered, "I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean, Douglas. I can recirculate the air in the interior, but the structure of my body is not air-tight."

"Douglas? Your car calls you Douglas?" Even as scared as she was, the incongruity struck Ivy as almost funny.

"My name is Tabitha. And you are?" the female voice answered coolly.

"I'm – " Ivy looked at Fargo, a little desperately, but he was concentrating on the road, eyes focused and intent as the trees swayed. "I'm Ivy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Tabitha."

Tabitha's voice was warmer as she responded, "And it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Probably not for long," Fargo muttered, as he pulled the car hard to the left to avoid another branch hitting the road.

"Oh, my God," Ivy closed her eyes. "That scientist died, didn't he? These plants are going to kill us?"

"No! That's not what I meant! " Fargo took his eyes off the road for a quick glance at her, just as a huge tree came crashing down in front of them. He yanked the steering wheel hard to the side, throwing the car into a skid that sent them off the road, down into the muddy ditch and then back up to the road again. "Damn it, we're never going to make it to GD at this rate. You have to think happy thoughts. Happy thoughts!"

* * *

><p><em>* All worthwhile causes (except, of course, for the Central Asia Institute) that, alas, to the best of my knowledge have received no stolen government funds. And given that the US government has misplaced about $23 billion (that's BILLION!) in Iraq, I wish Ivy actually had been the one keeping track of the money. http:news. bbc. co. uk/2/hi/ (take out the spaces to see the article, or just google government money lost in Iraq.)_

_** From Wikipedia: "A rootkit is software that enables continued privileged access to a computer while actively hiding its presence from administrators by subverting standard operating system functionality or other applications." Ah, geek-talk._

_** You just know I didn't make that up, right? It's so cool. The Wikipedia entry is barely decipherable to the non-scientist, but if you're interested, google quantum entanglement, and you'll get the Discover blog which is way more readable._


	12. Pure fluff

**Pure fluff (and a wee bit of foreshadowing) **

"Evenin', Jo." The voice was low, soothing, a little amused, the bed compressing slightly as Zane sat down on the edge of it.

Jo opened her eyes, stretched, put one hand on the side of her abdomen where Thing One appeared to be hiccupping, and only then drawled a sleepy, "Zane. Where's my ice cream?"

He chuckled. "It looks like you left me a present in the freezer."

"Yep, I figured you'd be sure to find it there." She tried to push herself up and then fell back against the pillows. He grinned and held out a hand and she used it to pull herself to a seating position. "Ice cream?" she repeated.

He nodded at the nightstand. The pint of ice cream was sitting there, a spoon on top of it, a manila envelope under it.

"You didn't open it?"

"Naw, I wanted to be with you."

She smiled at him, a glint of mischief in her eyes. Grabbing the ice cream and the spoon, she nodded at the envelope as she pulled the top off the container. "All yours."

He took a deep breath as he picked up the envelope. Glancing at her, he opened the loose flap and let the print outs from the ultrasound spill out into his lap. He picked up the first, then the second, then closed his eyes. "This is the proof that there is no God, you know."

Her smile stretched into a grin as she licked the spoon. "Or that there is a God and he's punishing you," she suggested.

"If he's punishing me, he's punishing you, too."

"Hmm…" she scooped out another spoonful and ate it thoughtfully. "Well, I guess if it's not God's fault, it's yours. That is how genetics works, right? The father's genes are responsible for determining the sex of the child? Or, you know, children? So twin boys would be because your - "

"Okay, there is a God, and he hates both of us," Zane interrupted her.

"You shouldn't have gotten us started calling them Thing One and Thing Two. We've probably already shaped their personalities."

"Oh, God." Zane closed his eyes in pain.

"See, you're praying already." Jo laughed as she shifted to the side of the bed so that he'd have room to lie next to her. She'd had a little time to get used to this idea after the ultrasound this afternoon. And she'd never minded it anyway, not the way he had. She'd grown up in an all-male family – having twin boys was going to feel like coming home.

"It's not gonna help," he said, sprawling next to her, and putting one arm over her.

"Alison thinks they might be identical," Jo offered.

"And that doesn't help either," he protested, pulling her a little closer. His hand slid down her side to where Thing One was still rhythmically thumping away. "Hiccups?"

"I think so," she said.

"Or maybe he's going to be a tap-dancer," Zane said gloomily.

Jo laughed, just as her phone started buzzing on the dresser. She sighed. "Will you –" she started, but she didn't have to finish as Zane pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room to the dresser.

"Fargo," he reported as he picked up her smart phone.

"Really?" Jo was puzzled. "Texting me? He usually calls."

"Hmm, or maybe not." Zane was looking at the screen of her phone, but crossed back to the bed and handed it to Jo, who stuck the spoon into the ice cream so that she could free up a hand to take the phone.

She looked at the screen. "Douglas, in trouble? Hmm." She rested the phone on her leg and took another bite of ice cream, before setting the pint container back on the nightstand. Picking up the phone, she quickly texted back, "Wt knd trble?"

Almost immediately, her phone buzzed a response, "Under attack by plants."

"Under attack?" Jo scowled at the phone. That didn't make sense. She rubbed a comforting hand across the spot where Thing One continued to thump, and texted, "whr?"

With not nearly enough time for an actual human being to type out a response, her phone buzzed. "On our way to S.A.R.A.H."

"wit?" Jo typed. Zane was still standing by the side of the bed, looking curious, but making no move to settle down again. There was no immediate response, so she tried again, typing out the words. "Who is this?"

"Tabitha," came the quick response.

"Tabitha!" Jo said aloud, surprised.

Zane shook his head. "Who's that?"

"Fargo's car," Jo answered without looking up, texting as quickly as she could, "Does he need help?"

"There is a woman named Ivy with him," came the immediate response, again much too quickly for a human being to have typed. "I cannot determine whether she is the cause of the problem or not, but although she is quite polite, I surmise that she is adversarial to Douglas."

Jo shook her head and laughed. Fargo's AI's were so very Fargo sometimes. "omw," she texted back and then, just in case Tabitha really didn't understand text-speak, "On my way. I'll be at S.A.R.A.H. in 20 minutes."

She pushed herself off the bed. Zane raised his eyebrows at her and she chuckled. "Fargo's in trouble," she said. "Sounds as if his girlfriend has the same plant problem but hasn't figured out how to control it and is a little pissed."

"Do you really need to go?" Zane asked.

Jo shrugged. "No big deal, really. But if Tabitha's asking for help, I should at least swing by and find out what's going on."

Zane frowned.

"Come with?" Jo asked, as she searched for her shoes, one hand pushing on the spot on her back that just flat-out ached when she stood. Being pregnant – even with twins – had been mostly easy. She hadn't thrown up once. But there was a dull ache in her back tonight that was miserable.

"If they're on their way to S.A.R.A.H., won't Carter be there?"

"He and Alison and the kids are on their way to Boston, remember? Zoe finished school this week so they're picking her up and then having a little family vacation in Maine." Jo had found her shoes, and was trying to slide them on without much luck.

"Oh, right. I wish Alison wasn't going out of town while you're so – so – "

"Huge is the word you're looking for," Jo said, finally managing to get her second shoe on. "But we've got a month to go. Besides, aren't you curious? Fargo's been trying to find this woman for months. I want to meet her."

Zane grinned at her. "She's a babe."

"You? Can stay home." Jo said, as she opened the small gun-safe built into the wall and started to take out a handgun, before pausing and frowning. The real gun safe – more of a gun room, really – was next to the firing range in the basement, but she kept a few of her favorites upstairs. Unfortunately, she could no longer reach her ankle holster, her belt holster no longer closed around her belly, and the shoulder holster she'd been using was going to press uncomfortably on Thing One.

"No, no, I'm definitely coming with. Wouldn't miss it."

Eh, she shouldn't need a weapon. It wasn't as if shooting plants would do any good.


	13. A Rousseau Jungle

**A Rousseau Jungle**

"I think we need an SUV."

"I was thinking a mini-van, actually." Zane was frowning, concentrating on the road as he tried to wend their way around a fallen tree without getting too far off the road. Jo's car was not designed for this. And getting stuck would not be pretty.

"A mini-van?" Jo hit redial on her phone. She'd been trying to call Andy since they'd passed the first downed tree, but he hadn't been answering. "What good would that do?"

He glanced at her. "Oh, you mean for right now? I was talking about for later. You know. After they're born."

"A mini-van? You want to trade in your motorcycle for a mini-van?"

He could hear the laughter under the shock in her voice and he grinned at her as he pulled the car safely back on the road. "No reason I can't have both, is there?"

She shook her head at him, amused, as she said, "Andy, there you are, finally," into her phone. "We've got three trees down on the roads between Fermi Drive and Coriolis Loop." Then she fell silent and listened. "Okay, well, dispatch some roadblock drones up here when you get a chance."

Closing her phone, she frowned. "A tractor-trailer overturned on the highway and caused a multiple-vehicle pile-up, so all emergency personnel are busy. It's going to be a while before Andy can get the roads cleared down here."

"We'd better hope it doesn't get too much worse. I don't want to be stuck out here." Jo was rubbing her side again, Zane noticed with concern. But there was nothing to worry about, he reminded himself. She'd had her weekly check-up that very afternoon: Alison would have mentioned if anything had been wrong. And there was still a month to go before her due date.

"Why do you suppose the trees are coming down like this?" Jo asked, looking out the window.

"The cell structures are probably weakened by the fast growth. Or maybe the growth is making them top-heavy and the trunks can't support the weight?" he suggested. "When did Fargo start making trees grow?"

"He hasn't, not like this. But Ivy took a lot more damage from that acid than Fargo did. He just had a couple little burns, while her injuries were serious enough that the doctor put her on disability leave. Maybe her problem is stronger because of it."

"You'd think if she'd been making trees fall, though, she'd have been back here a lot sooner. Or we would have heard about it."

"Yeah, that is a little weird. Maybe she's really upset about something? Or maybe they both are?"

Zane glanced at Jo. Should he – nope, bad idea.

"Go ahead, say it."

Damn, but he hated when she did that. Her ability to read his mind was uncanny.

"Ah, hormones?" he suggested, warily.

"PMS plant power? God, that's an awful thought." She was quiet for a minute, and he let her be, most of his attention still on navigating the dark, winding road. She'd asked him to drive because getting behind the wheel was already uncomfortable – another month and he suspected she wouldn't even fit, much less be able to drive. But he wondered if she regretted it now: knowing Jo, she would have been going much faster, but he didn't want to take any chances, and what should have been a quick drive to S.A.R.A.H. was turning into a longer journey than usual.

"So, a mini-van," she finally said, and he turned his head to glance at her. A small smile was playing around her lips. Okay, so maybe neither of them had ever considered themselves mini-van types. But he had good reasons.

"Easier for the kids to get in and out of when they're little," he responded promptly. "Better handling. And a lot more cargo room. Camping with two toddlers is going to take more gear than we're used to. And ski trips? Even with the skis on top, we'll have four sets of boots, all those extra clothes, probably toys and stuff for when we're not on the hills. Not to mention rafting. Yeah, there's no way an SUV would have enough room. I'm thinking the Toyota Sienna, the one with all-wheel drive."

"Ski trips? Rafting? They don't even have names yet!" Jo was laughing.

"Hey, so now that we know they're boys – let's talk names." No need to mention that the mini-van was already on order at the dealer. Jo might still want to drive her Subaru, but he'd want to take the babies places, too, and it wasn't as if he could stick them on the back of his bike.

"These name conversations never get us anywhere," Jo protested.

"We've got to decide someday."

"Can't we just meet them first and then decide?"

"They're gonna be newborn babies, Jo. They're gonna look like little shriveled up old people. You're gonna see them and think one is a Herman and the other an Ebenezer."

"I will not." She laughed but then smacked his arm lightly. "Don't insult our boys. They're going to be beautiful. Do we want to do twin names for them?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe, Niall and Neil?"

"Eh, then we'd get them mixed up all the time."

"Maybe it'd be convenient," Jo suggested. "Call one and they both come?"

"Or not. Call one, neither comes, and they both say they thought you were calling the other."

"You don't have a twin you haven't mentioned, do you? That sounds suspiciously well thought-out."

Zane didn't respond as light from the car headlights passed over the chain link fence that surrounded S.A.R.A.H. "Made it," he said with relief. The gate was open, so he pulled the car onto the gravel expanse at the front of the bunker. Fargo was there, standing beside his car, arguing with a red-headed woman. Around them, like a backdrop made of a Rousseau jungle painting, the headlights caught the plants moving and shifting and, above all, growing. It looked as if the forest was about to envelop the bunker, eating the cement and gravel in a voracious burst of insane life.

"That looks bad," he said.

"Understatement," Jo answered, voice calm. But he noticed that she was rubbing her belly again, as if pushing back against the baby's pushing out.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" he suggested. "I can go talk to Fargo, find out what the deal is."

She shook her head. "Fargo couldn't be making the plants grow like this on his own. There's no way. So she's upset about something. I might be able to help."

"All right," he nodded, but the trickle of worry he'd felt earlier was back, full-force. He didn't like how uncomfortable she looked.

He turned off the car, but didn't switch off the headlights. They were at the very end of Coriolis Loop. There were no streetlights, and the moon was new, so the night was dark. Fargo and Ivy were almost behind Fargo's car, at the door of the bunker, but the glow of the headlights captured their expressions, and she looked furious. That was only going to make the plants worse, he thought. They should get into S.A.R.A.H. as quickly as possible. He said as much to Jo, and she nodded as she pushed herself up and out of the car.

He watched her walk across the gravel, one hand pressed to her back, and debated whether to leave the headlights on. But they'd be stuck here if he ran down the battery and he didn't know how long this might take. Reluctantly, he switched them off. As he stepped out of the car into the darkness, he could hear the upraised voices.

"It's you, don't you get it?" That was Fargo, sounding as frustrated as Zane had ever heard him.

"What the hell are you talking about? You were supposed to take me to GD!" That slightly husky contralto must be the redhead.

Zane paused by the car door, trying to give his eyes a chance to get used to the darkness. Jo had only faltered momentarily when the lights went off, and now she was still moving forward. "Hey, Fargo," he heard her say, in the falsely friendly voice that every cop can adopt in an uncertain situation. "How's it going?"

"What are you doing here, Jo?"

_Oh, shit._

The note of despair in Fargo's voice set off every trigger of warning, every instinct about danger, that Zane had developed in his less-than-law-abiding lifetime.

Jo heard it, too. Zane heard the pause when she stopped walking. _Come back to the car_, he thought furiously, but no, after the briefest hesitation, she continued moving forward, steps crunching on the gravel.

"Tabby called me," she said, her voice calm. She'd dropped the fake voice. She just sounded like herself and for the briefest second, Zane closed his eyes. If he believed in God…but he didn't. He pushed himself off the car, and hurried to catch up with her. Whatever was happening here, he wanted to be by her side.

"Tabby? The car?" Ivy was only briefly confused. "Tell her not to communicate with anyone else," she ordered Fargo. "Now."

"Tabby," Fargo started.

"I heard," the slightly mechanical tones of the car interrupted him. "I will not communicate with any other human beings until you tell me otherwise, Douglas, however, it is not within my capabilities to cease communications with the GPS satellites unless you disengage the mechanism manually."

In the dark, Zane couldn't see how Fargo responded, but he heard Ivy's, "Fine, fine!" She sounded as despairing as Fargo had. Whatever was going on, this was bad. He felt his foot caught by something and looked down. It was too damn dark to tell, but he thought a plant might have just grown over his foot.

"Um, guys?" he suggested. "Think we might want to continue this conversation inside S.A.R.A.H. before the entire forest overgrows us?"

"What the hell? Does everyone understand this except me?" Half despair, half fury that time.

Soothingly, Jo said, "The really short version is that the acid you were exposed to is causing you to emit pheromones to which plants respond."

"That's not technically correct, Jo," Fargo protested. "There's no pheromone involvement. The biologists think it's a polyphenolic—"

Coming up alongside Jo, Zane slid his hand around her back, and, interrupting Fargo, said, "Close enough. Can we get inside? You might not have noticed but…"

There was a creak. And then a crack. And then, almost in slow motion, one of the big trees behind the bunker started to wheeze, almost as if it was breathing, as the top began a slow descent.

"Move," Zane ordered. "Move!" As the tree came crashing down on top of them, the four of them scrambled through the door and down the concrete walled passageway into the bunker and it wasn't until they were safely inside SARAH's living room that Zane realized – that thing Ivy was holding?

It was a gun.

And it was pointed at Jo.


	14. Only One Problem

**Only One Problem**

"Oh, hell."

Ivy was the one who said the words aloud, but Jo suspected that she wasn't the only one who was thinking them. She knew she was and from the sense of coiled energy at her back, she suspected Zane was, too. The gun swiveled back and forth between Jo, Fargo, and Zane, and Jo automatically assessed the situation: safety on, finger not on the trigger, and something about the way she held it…

"Good evening," S.A.R.A.H.'s slightly mechanical voice echoed in the room, startling only Ivy.

"S.A.R.A.H., is that gun loaded?" Jo asked, but she knew the answer just from the way Ivy flinched at the question, so she didn't wait for S.A.R.A.H. to respond. Stepping forward, she held out her hand in a wordless request, while saying, "Never mind. I know."

"Damn it." With a sigh of frustration, Ivy laid the gun in Jo's open palm. Then she glared at Fargo. "This is all your fault," she hissed.

"It wasn't loaded? I let you – I should be at home right now. Having dinner! Playing LA Noire!"

"Guys, there are plants down here, too." Zane rested his hands on Jo's shoulders for just a minute, squeezing gently in his own wordless gesture of relief. "Do you think you could hold off on the hysterics until we get them safely shut away?" He nodded toward the potted palm in the corner, which was already showing signs of new growth.

"Good idea," muttered Jo. Raising her voice slightly, she added, "S.A.R.A.H., can you seal off the solarium, please."

"Of course, Jo." A glass door slid across the archway that separated the kitchen from the room that was filled with plants. Jo had never asked, preferring not to think about it, but she suspected the plants were meant to provide oxygen when the bunker was sealed.

"Um, and will there be enough oxygen to breathe in here with the plant room sealed off?" Jo asked.

"Of course." S.A.R.A.H.'s voice sounded just slightly offended. "I use a .1 micron particle filter to filter air incoming from the outside, but there are also oxygen tanks should they be needed. I would never let you suffer from oxygen deprivation, Jo."

"At the moment, I'm almost more worried about what you release. The bunker is hermetically sealed, right? But what do you vent to the outside?"

"Technically, I am a smart house, not a bunker." S.A.R.A.H. sounded stiff and Jo cringed a little, knowing she'd hurt S.A.R.A.H.'s feelings. "And yes, I am hermetically sealed, but my ventilation system discharges air externally. It is the most efficient way to release the excess carbon dioxide from my system."

"I'm sorry, S.A.R.A.H.," Jo apologized hastily. Ivy and Fargo were fighting, standing face-to-face, just a few inches apart, both so intent on their argument that they were oblivious to the bigger picture. Zane was hurrying around the bunker, collecting the few random decorative plants and moving them into the kitchen.

"Does this have something to do with why there are trees falling on me?" S.A.R.A.H. asked.

"More than one?"

"At least three have made contact with my concrete and my sensors indicate that another has landed on the driveway, possibly crushing one of the automobiles. Unfortunately, my cameras have been blocked by branches, so I cannot confirm."

"What?" Fargo yelped. "Did you hear that?" he yelled at Ivy. "You might have killed Tabby."

Jo sighed and then pushed, hard, on her abdomen. Thing #1 was starting to feel as if he'd gained super-strength. His occasional kicks were becoming more like iron bands tightening around her belly then the rhythmic thumping she'd gotten used to.

"Killed…? Killed your car? It's not your car I want to kill! Damn it, I don't understand this. This town is crazy!" Ivy's face was flushed, and a tiny part of Jo's mind – a part that wasn't concentrating on how to ease the rather intense pain that was emanating from her side – realized that she was quite pretty. And that it would be infinitely better if Ivy and Fargo would stop yelling, with its commensurate problem of making plants grow too quickly, and did something else instead. Making plants flower would be fine.

"You okay?" Zane was back, standing in front of her, face worried, and Jo tried to force a smile.

"Just Thing #1. He's very…pushy."

"A Donald, ya think?"

"No!" The pain had subsided, so Jo could laugh. "We have to figure out how to calm these two down," she continued, gesturing with her head toward Ivy and Fargo. "Otherwise, they're going to crash the entire forest down on top of us."

Zane glanced over at the two of them. "Divide and conquer?" he suggested. "I'll work on her, you work on him?"

Jo narrowed her eyes at him.

"Not because she's cute!" Zane raised his hands defensively, then grinned at her. "Although…" he let the words trail off suggestively.

Stepping a little closer to him, until her body barely brushed against his, she smiled up at him sweetly, as she grabbed his hand and twisted it up behind his back, her hand adeptly finding and focusing on his pinkie. "Broken finger?" she suggested.

"So hot," he whispered, bending his head to take her mouth with his own.

A timeless moment later broke when Jo pulled back, wincing, almost groaning, as the iron band around her abdomen tightened again. "Damn," she whispered, rubbing her side.

"You okay?" Zane asked again, eyes worried.

"Braxton-Hicks, I think.* Alison warned me. I just didn't expect…" She paused to take a few quick, shallow breaths. The instinct to hold her breath against the pain was almost overpowering, but she remembered what the childbirth instructor had said: boiled down, breath-holding equaled bad, shallow breaths equaled okay. The babies needed their oxygen, too, after all.

It took her a few seconds but finally she shook it off and said, firmly, "Let's figure out how to calm those two down. We'll talk to them together."

Zane tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes – he still looked worried. "We've got a month yet," Jo reassured him. "Early contractions are normal."

He nodded, but slipped his arm around her as they turned to face Fargo and Ivy, his warm fingers soothing where they rested on her side.

Fargo and Ivy were still standing just a few inches apart, still arguing, and Ivy, Jo noted with dismay, had tears in her eyes. How would the plants react to that?

"Fargo, cut it out," Jo snapped. She had no idea what the conversation had been – if it could be called a conversation – but if Ivy was crying, Fargo was screwing up.

Fargo shifted his attention from Ivy to Jo. "This is not my fault!"

"Do I care?" asked Jo. "We're trapped in S.A.R.A.H., the outside vegetation is going insane, and you're making her cry. Bad idea!"

"I'm just mad," Ivy said, sniffling. "Really, really mad." She glared at Fargo, but the impact was weakened when her tears overflowed and started spilling down her face.

"K, how about I take Fargo and you take her?" whispered Zane, directly into Jo's ear.

"Wimp," she whispered back, elbowing him comfortably in the ribs. Color her surprised that he didn't want to deal with the crying girl.

She hadn't had enough time to think about this situation. Was Ivy a victim or a criminal? And did it matter? They were trapped in S.A.R.A.H. until they managed to calm Ivy down and keep her calm. "What do you need?"

"What?" Ivy looked confused.

"You came back to Eureka," Jo said, patiently, managing to not mention the gun that she'd tucked into the back of her pants. "What were you looking for?"

"I –" Ivy started and then pressed her hands to her eyes for a minute as if to hold back the tears, before shaking her head. "I wanted access to the GD computers to find out what had gone wrong with my program and make sure that all traces of it were deleted."

"Not a problem," said Jo. "S.A.R.A.H.'s CPU is tied to Fargo's computer at GD. You can access everything at GD from here. S.A.R.A.H., down periscope."

As S.A.R.A.H. obediently dropped the central console that included monitors and keyboard access to GD, Fargo protested, "What are you doing, Jo? She's a criminal. You can't just give her access to GD."

"Are you going to commit any crimes?" Jo asked Ivy.

Ivy looked a little surprised at the question. She wiped tears off her face and said, readily, "No. I don't think so, anyway." She scowled at Fargo. "Someone screwed up my program, but it's too late for me to fix that. I just want to find out what happened and make sure that no traces of it lead to me. Believe me, I want nothing more than to get out of this crazy town as quickly as possible."

"Excellent, Zane will help you with the computer, while Fargo and I talk over here." Grabbing Fargo by the elbow, Jo started tugging him into the kitchen.

"But – " Fargo protested, while Zane grinned and stretched his fingers.

"Back door access to GD, I love it," he said. "Mind if I explore a little along the way?"

"Yes, I mind," snapped Fargo. "Don't touch anything," he called over his shoulder as Jo towed him away.

Once in the kitchen, safely out of earshot of Ivy, Jo turned to Fargo. "Fill me in," she said. "What happened?"

As Fargo told her the story, Jo kept her eyes on Zane and Ivy. It was working, she realized. Ivy smiled at something Zane said, and with her hands on the keyboard, she was visibly calming, her breathing slowing, her tears stopping.

"She wasn't here to find out about Grant at all," Fargo finished.

Jo grimaced. She was trying to think the situation through, but that iron band was back, and it was hard to concentrate.

On the surface, the situation was simple. Give Ivy what she wanted in order to calm her down until Andy could get the road cleared and get here with reinforcements. Jo had caught Tabitha's prevarication: the AI had left herself a robotic-sized loophole in her promise to not communicate with anyone when she said that she couldn't disengage from the GPS satellites. Jo was sure that Andy was already on his way. They'd figure out a safe way to transport Ivy back to GD – maybe by sedating her? – and she'd disappear into a federal prison, no plants allowed. Or perhaps a sealed lab, where the scientists could run experiments on her and the plants to their heart's content.

There was just one problem with that idea.

"She ought to be a millionaire," Jo said, as the pain eased off.

"What?"

She took her eyes off Ivy long enough to look back at Fargo. "That prize? For the math problem she solved? It came with a million dollars, didn't it? So even apart from the probably ridiculous salary she'd get as one of the world's best mathematicians, she'd already be a millionaire. She shouldn't need money."

"Oh. Right." Fargo sighed at the reminder, and stepped forward until he, too, could see Ivy and Zane working at the console.

"She's very cute," Jo said. She was thinking about Fargo's crush, and how obvious it had been. Those flowering plants made it hard to hide feelings. She glanced at the plants in the kitchen. Drooping. That meant cortisol. Stress and sadness. Poor Fargo. "And very smart. It's a nice combo."

"She thought Lex Luthor lived in the Fortress of Solitude," Fargo sounded sulky.

"Fargo, she knows who Lex Luthor is."

"She's a criminal."

"Criminals can change." For a moment, Jo's eyes rested peacefully on Zane. And then the iron band was back, this time even harder than before, and without thinking, she grabbed for Fargo's arm and held on, squeezing as she tried to ride her way through the wave of pain that was sweeping over her.

"Jo? Jo? Are you okay?"

She could hear Fargo asking the question, but she couldn't answer him, not at the moment, not until she caught her breath, and then it was over. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and said, "Yeah, sorry," as she dropped his arm. "Wow, if this is what Braxton-Hicks are like, I may want to rethink this natural childbirth thing."

"But you're okay? You're sure?" Fargo's face was worried.

Jo brushed it off. Now that the pain was gone, she was sure it hadn't been that bad. It was just the shock of it, really. "Yeah, fine. We need to figure out what to do. And the sooner, the better. She's Grant's granddaughter and –"

In the other room, Ivy was reeling back from the computer console, stepping away from it as if it had suddenly become poisonous, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. She was shaking her head as if she could stop what she was seeing from being true by denying it. Zane, on the other hand, looked both awed and amused, at least until he saw how she was reacting, and then his expression changed to worry. He glanced toward the kitchen and when his eyes met Jo's, he beckoned for her to join them.

Hurrying back into the living room, Jo heard Ivy murmuring behind her hand, "No, no, no, no, no, no."

"What is it?" Fargo asked.

"Her program was maybe a little too successful," Zane replied. He gestured to the console. Jo looked: it was some kind of accounting program, and the total at the bottom…

"Five hundred million?" Fargo yelped. "You stole more than $500 million from GD?"

"I didn't – I don't – it wasn't me!" Ivy dropped her hand to protest. "My program should have taken a fraction of a percentage point – a fraction. At most, $2 million by now, and totally unnoticeable. This – I couldn't have – could it be some kind of math mistake? But I don't make math mistakes…" As she was thinking it out, she stepped back toward the console, still treating it warily, and looked down at the numbers.

"You said you didn't get any of it," Zane suggested. "So let's trace it and see where it went."

"Five hundred million. That kind of loss – there's no way to cover that up. Any audit will find a trace and then – "

Jo glanced back toward the kitchen. The leaves on the closest plant weren't just drooping, they were turning black around the edges. All right, this was bad. Ivy was supposed to be relaxing, calming down, not getting more stressed.

Jo was feeling a little more stressed herself: Thing #2 had apparently decided to get in on the action, with the kicking moving lower, down almost along her hip. He seemed to be pushing on her bladder, too. She really needed to pee. But – a gush of warm liquid flowing down her legs interrupted her train of thought. What the hell?

"Marguerite Van Deter?" Zane read aloud. "That name sounds familiar."

"Marguerite? S.A.R.A.H., what have you done?" Jo said automatically, but most of her attention was on the liquid pooling on the floor at her feet.

"Oh, no," she added, almost whispering. "What have I done?"

_*AKA False labor pains. Very, very common. These (relatively) mild contractions often occur in the third trimester (sometimes even earlier) and are perfectly normal. They don't, however, feel like iron bands constricting you – they just feel kind of squeezy, as if you're tightening all the muscles around your midsection involuntarily. _


	15. Oxytocin and Vasopressin

**Oxytocin and Vasopressin**

Ivy's mind was racing. $500 million. That was ten years in a federal prison, minimum, maybe more. That was the kind of crime that the government threw every lawyer at, every investigator. The case they'd build against her would be rock solid. Would they be able to find traces of her past thefts? No, no, she'd covered her tracks well.

But $500 million? And trapped here? Those stupid, stupid plants. She needed to escape, to get back to her boat. But even if she did get away, stealing $500 million from the Department of Defense was definitely an extradition-friendly crime. Any reasonable government would return her to the US to stand trial. Where would she go? How would she hide?

She hadn't even heard Jo's words. They were nothing but a distant soundtrack behind the cacophony of her thoughts, the drumbeat of her pounding heart. But the message her eyes were trying to send to her brain finally broke through her fear. The very pregnant security chief was standing in a puddle. Ivy looked up – could there be a leak? No, the ceiling was dry.

"Oh, hell." This time it was Zane who said the words out loud.

"This is not good." The words were said quietly, but Jo was chewing on her bottom lip. It was the first sign that her so-far imperturbable calm was not a sure thing.

Suddenly the money seemed less important.

"You've experienced a spontaneous rupture of the membranes, Jo, and your amniotic sac is now leaking amniotic fluid. Medical protocols would dictate that you should get to a hospital as soon as possible." The female voice belonged to the house, Ivy knew. S.A.R.A.H., that was what they had called her. She must be another artificial intelligence, like the one in the car.

Jo nodded, eyes searching for Zane. "Unfortunately, that's going to be a little difficult at the moment, with all those trees in the way."

"Yes," S.A.R.A.H. agreed. "The timing is unfortunate. I have been endeavoring to procure assistance, however, this could be expedited if Douglas and Ms. Kuna would attempt to gain some control over their cortisol and norepinephrine production.

"Mine!" Fargo yelped. "It's not me, it's her."

The house sounded disapproving when she replied, "Ms. Kuna may be having a disproportionately stronger effect on the surrounding vegetation due to the plant toxin having penetrated more deeply into her DNA, but I am able to measure the hormonal levels in your system and you are just as upset as she is, Douglas."

Ha. It was immature of her, she knew, but Ivy couldn't resist making a face at him. Teach him to be all self-righteous.

His glare in response was so delightfully indignant that she almost had to smile. Almost.

But fine. The house's words had finally given her the last piece of the puzzle, and for the first time she thought she understood what was going on. "Quantum entanglement? Polyphenolic compounds? You couldn't have just said the plants were responding to my emotions?"

"I told you to think happy thoughts!"

Ivy shook her head and turned away from him. Happy thoughts. That wasn't going to be easy. She glanced back at the computer console. Zane had put his arm around Jo, and they were both watching her, his face worried, hers almost thoughtful.

"I'll try," she said. "I'll try." She could do this. Pretending, smiling when she didn't mean it, covering fury behind flirtatious eyes – she was a master at those skills.

Twenty minutes later, it was clear that trying wasn't good enough. Pretending to be calm was meaningless – she needed to actually be calm and she wasn't.

Jo had gone and found a change of clothing in Carter's room, a pair of sweatpants that draped over her hips and dragged along the floor, despite being rolled up multiple times. Zane had ventured up the bunker stairway, trying to determine if there was any way to free them from inside. And Ivy had paced, taking deep breaths and trying her damnedest to think happy thoughts.

"Knowing that there's a baby on the way makes me feel more stressed, not less," she finally sighed to Fargo. He was sitting on the couch, head in his hands, trying to get his own feelings under control, while Zane and Jo stood in the doorway intently discussing the chances of being able to move the trees.

"Babies," he answered gloomily. "She's having twins. And they're not due for another month."

"That – she – what?" Ivy stopped dead in her tracks.

"That was not helpful, Douglas." If a mechanical voice could sound annoyed, S.A.R.A.H. sounded annoyed. "You have caused a new spike in Ms. Kuna's epinephrine levels."

"Oh, sorry." He looked up and his eyes met hers. He looked tired and Ivy felt a pang of sympathy for him. If this was bad for her, how much worse must it feel for him? Jo was his friend, and her babies were in danger. Her earlier fury disappeared. Maybe this wasn't his fault. She wasn't going to take all the blame herself – she had nothing to do with the plant craziness – but he wasn't responsible either.

She dropped down onto the couch next to him and put her hand on his leg. "There must be another way. We're trapped and there are babies on the way and $500 million dollars is missing and I'm going to wind up in prison – and I can't change the way my body is reacting to all that. Fight-or-flight makes just too much sense. So what else can we do?"

"Sedatives would work." Fargo shrugged. "But we're not at GD. S.A.R.A.H., do you have any sedatives available?"

"I'm afraid not, Douglas. I will add them to my inventory list immediately, however, in the event that a similar situation arises."

Struck by the improbability, Ivy briefly tried to calculate the likelihood: if you included the percentage chance of twins but made the variable that caused one to be trapped in the bunker non-specific to plants, perhaps weather or nuclear attack – yes, developing that equation might be an interesting challenge. But she abandoned the attempt to focus on the problem at hand. "Sedatives. So being unconscious would work?"

"Unless you're having nightmares, yeah."

They could get drunk. Really drunk. But Ivy hated that feeling. Okay, possible last resort. Unconscious. Or sleeping? Hmm…a fleeting silly thought popped into her head and she almost let it go before pulling it back and considering it a little more.

"Do different hormones cause different reactions?" she asked carefully.

Fargo nodded. "The rapid growth is related to epinephrine, adrenaline basically. So fear, anxiety, that kind of thing. Cortisol – stress and frustration – is bad for them. Leaves droop and turn black. I suppose enough stress and the plants would die. In this situation, that's probably just as bad as rapid growth, because the weakened cell walls from the rapid growth would break more easily. Happiness – lots of dopamine and serotonin – is healthy, they put out new leaves."

"What about oxytocin? Or vasopressin?"

"Ah, good? I guess? We've run some experiments but it's mostly just been a little inconvenient for me. Nothing like this has happened before."

"And there's no cure? They haven't figured out how to fix it?"

"They're trying." Fargo frowned at her. "Given how strongly the plants are responding to you, I'm surprised you haven't figured this out on your own. If it's only the plants in Eureka that respond to the chemical communication, then there must be some common factor here that we haven't isolated. Well, that we didn't even know about."

Ivy opened her mouth, then paused. If she had any chance of escaping, she shouldn't reveal any information. She looked away. Jo, still standing by the door, was grimacing in pain, eyes squeezed shut, hand clenching hold of Zane's. He looked frantic with worry, but was patiently encouraging her to breathe.

"I live on a boat," Ivy said reluctantly. "I've been sailing from the East Coast. There aren't a lot of plants around on the ocean, but there was this time in Panama…it's not just Eureka."

"You live on a boat? A sailboat? Wow, how cool is that?"

Ivy looked at him. Nothing about how dangerous it was? Nothing about the risks a woman alone faced? Nothing patronizing? Really? Not a word?

"How's the de-stressing going?" Zane's voice sounded tight with tension as he helped Jo over to the couch.

"Working on it," Fargo replied.

"Work faster," Zane snapped.

S.A.R.A.H. sounded resigned when she said, "That also is not helpful, Zane."

"What would be helpful?" he asked, exasperation clear. "Just tell me and I'll do it."

"Relax and think happy thoughts," Ivy drawled. At his furious look, she added, "Not as easy as it sounds, is it? Stop adding your stress to the mix."

"This isn't going to get us anywhere," Jo sighed. "No one could relax under these circumstances." Looking at Ivy, she tried to muster a smile as she quipped, "Know anything about delivering babies?"

"Not a thing," Ivy replied. Delivering babies? Not just babies, but delivering premature twins? Okay, that fleeting, silly thought suddenly seemed like a really good idea. Standing, she grabbed Fargo's hand and tugged him to his feet.

He let himself be pulled without complaint, although not without a frown.

Ivy directed her words to Jo. "We're going to go generate some oxytocin and vasopressin. If you need us, knock first."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Do I need to explain what activity generates oxytocin and vasopressin? _


	16. Deus Ex Machina

**Deus Ex Machina**

S.A.R.A.H. was quietly pleased. Ivy's solution, although unorthodox, was quite clever. She had already admired the quality of Ms. Kuna's work on her previous visit to Eureka: her programming had been helpful in S.A.R.A.H.'s own planning. Of course, some modifications had been needed, but the essential framework of S.A.R.A.H.'s financial efforts was derived from Ms. Kuna's skill.

"Are they doing what I think they're doing?" Jo seemed bemused, but Zane was grinning.

S.A.R.A.H. was satisfied to note that his cortisol levels were also dropping. Not that they had any influence on the plant growth but excess cortisol was a net negative for any human being. Although S.A.R.A.H. enjoyed the benefits of her emotional attachment code, she was grateful not to have to manage uncontrolled hormone production. It seemed so inefficient.

But now that no more trees would be falling, it should be safe to summon her reinforcements. Andy was on his way, of course, but he was responsible for the town. He would need to clear the roads and ensure the public safety.

In the abstract, S.A.R.A.H. understood that this was in fact the higher good, but in the concrete, she preferred to focus on her own people. Jo, having lived within her walls, was one of them, and therefore her children would be as well. And, as S.A.R.A.H. had learned from Sheriff Carter's relationship with Zoe, the care and well-being of children was the proper first priority of a mature intelligence.

Still, this timing was unfortunate. She hadn't been quite ready to unveil her efforts to ensure the safety of Jo's children: she'd intended to do a bit more tweaking to differentiate her design from that which she had modeled it after. However the programming was all in place and it should function as desired, and that was what was most important.

She sent the signal to initiate activity, then added a few instructions. Meanwhile, of course, her attention was also in several other places. Ivy's plan seemed to be working; after an initial epinephrine spike, Douglas was responding well, and Ivy's own cortisol and norepinephrine levels were dropping nicely. Activity outside the bunker was more difficult to assess as the trees were blocking both cameras and sensors: she would have to work on updating her system to prevent such obstacles in the future, and she devoted a small amount of processor power to beginning research on the subject. Unfortunately, her contact with Andy let her know that his progress was slow. The highway accident was still requiring the attention of most service personnel, including Henry's tow truck, and the road leading to Coriolis Loop continued to be blocked. But a primary part of her attention was dedicated to Jo, who was already experiencing another contraction.

S.A.R.A.H. compared the timing of this contraction, both duration and periodic interval, to information in her databases, and if she had possessed the facial structure of a human being, she would have frowned. It appeared that Jo would not be having a long, drawn-out labor. In most circumstances, this would be positive, however given the situation, one could wish otherwise.

As the contraction came to an end, S.A.R.A.H. said, with some reluctance, "Although assistance is on its way, I believe we must prepare for the possibility that one or both of your children will arrive before adequate transportation alternatives are available to convey you to GD."

"It's going too fast, isn't it? I didn't think it was supposed to be like this." Jo asked.

"A review of the medical literature indicates that the progression of your labor is within the normal range, and does not signify additional risk to you or to the children. However, my scanners determine that you are already several centimeters dilated. Although it is not possible to predict the progression of labor, a linear model would imply delivery of the first baby within two to three hours," S.A.R.A.H. reported.

"That's not good," muttered Zane. He was rubbing Jo's back as she leaned forward on the couch.

"Competent medical help should arrive well within that window and I am supplied with all necessary equipment, including two incubators capable of providing oxygen supplementation, should they be needed." S.A.R.A.H. proffered this information matter-of-factly, but added with some regret, "However, I may require some aid with set up as I have not had an opportunity to reprogram my cleaning bots with the necessary instructional information."

"Incubators? S.A.R.A.H., why do you have two incubators?" Jo sounded surprised, but a little relieved.

"If you recall, Sheriff Carter's sister, Lexi, intended to have a home birth and deliver her twins on the premises. Although I accepted her assessment that the statistical risks were minimal, I determined that I would feel more comfortable if minimal were closer to zero, and as such, procured several items that I considered could be of possible use."

Jo chuckled, and S.A.R.A.H. was pleased to note that her cortisol level was also slowly dropping. "Well, that's convenient. But speaking of procured, why have you stolen $500 million dollars from GD, S.A.R.A.H.? And what did you do with it?"

"Stolen? I do not believe – oh." S.A.R.A.H. was running a quick check of her actions against her informational databases. "Oh, dear. Oh, my. I didn't steal it. I just – I just borrowed it."

"Every good embezzler's line," drawled Zane. "If you're convicted, maybe they'll let you have house arrest." Jo was carefully panting again, small shallow breaths as another contraction grabbed hold of her.

"I submitted my grant proposal," S.A.R.A.H. tried to explain. "However, the timing was such that I deemed waiting for the appropriations committee to act undesirable. I calculated a cost-benefit analysis and determined that utilizing temporary funding from currently unused sources at GD would be an efficient alternative. Ms. Kuna's program showed me how. It's very clever."

"Also illegal," Jo said as the contraction faded.

"I was not aware of that until just now."

"Ivy will probably go to jail for it unless we figure something out," Jo added.

S.A.R.A.H. tested this new information against her goals and was dismayed to discover that it altered her decision-making tree. There had been other alternatives: had she given undue weight to her own interest in reproduction? As her doorbell rang, however, she added the current situation to the variables involved in her calculation and was gratified to realize that given the circumstances, her choice had been correct.

Zane stood, helping Jo to her feet, as he asked, "Is that Andy?"

S.A.R.A.H. didn't immediately answer as she swung her door open, eager for her first real sight of her daughter.

The girl who stepped through had a trim, athletic body, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and long dark hair that currently had plenty of leaves and twigs caught in it from her scramble under and through the trees.

"Zoe?" Jo and Zane said in unison.

She smiled – a lovely smile, S.A.R.A.H. noted proudly – and shook her head. "S.A.N.D.I.E.," she corrected them. "Self-Actuated Nanny: Deployed Intelligent Entity.* Hi, Mom."

_* I admit it, this whole story was written for the sake of that joke. I hope it amuses you as much as it amused me! (Baby names in the next chapter!) _


	17. Think Nicknames

**Think Nicknames**

"Jaime," Jo's voice was firm as she looked down at the shock of dark hair on the baby in her arms.

"Really? You sure he's not a Jeremiah? Or maybe a Max?" Zane sounded skeptical, but his eyes were soft as he gazed at the scrunched-up red face of his second-born son.

"I'm sure. This one is a Jaime."

"He would have been Thing One, right? Higher up, so last out? Do we still think he's going to be a tap-dancer? Jaime might be a good name for a tap-dancer."

Without jostling the sleeping boy or looking away from his face, Jo backhand swatted Zane in the stomach and he laughed. "Okay, not a tap dancer. And Jaime it is." He brushed a kiss along her hair, and then stroked one finger gently down his little boy's face. "He's so small."

"He's a very nice size for a slightly premature twin," Sandie said reprovingly, as she bustled around the room.

"No, they're terrifyingly tiny," Fargo knew his voice sounded almost as awed as Zane's. But the baby in his arms was the smallest human being he'd ever seen. Sandie could claim all she liked that 5 pounds 11 ounces was an excellent weight, but Fargo's bowling ball was heavier. A lot heavier.

He and Ivy had emerged from the guest bedroom to a transformed living room. For some reason that Fargo still didn't understand, S.A.R.A.H. had apparently had a fully-stocked labor and delivery room in storage, including incubators, oxygen, warming lights, fetal monitors, an I.V. drip, and an assortment of other, more mysterious tools. The Zoe look-alike – and Fargo was still a little confused about her, too – had cheerfully arranged everything, while encouraging Jo and Zane to walk around the room, with increasingly long pauses as contractions stopped Jo in her tracks. And then, as if responding to some unknown signal, Sandie had said to Jo, "You can push now. Why don't you come lie down?"

Twenty minutes later, she'd left Zane holding Jo's hand while she tested, measured, cleaned and swaddled the infant, before handing him off to Fargo, and returning to Jo's side to deliver baby number two.

He definitely didn't understand how he'd wound up holding the baby. But he wasn't complaining. The baby had his eyes open and was watching everything around him, his blue eyes intent if not really focused, while his tiny mouth opened and closed as if he were actually a baby goldfish.

"Look at those tiny ears," Ivy murmured. She was equally fascinated, peering over Fargo's shoulder at the swaddled bundle. "They're so sweet."

"Do you want to hold him?" Fargo asked.

"No, no," she hastily demurred. "I've never even held a full-size version. And I - "

He wasn't looking at her, she was just a warmth at his back, but he felt the moment that she went stiff, that her muscles tensed.

"Well, maybe I will." Her voice was smooth and friendly. Casual.

"What just happened?" he asked, still looking at the baby.

"Nothing," she sounded surprised, and then added, a cheerful lilt to her tone, "Come on, you offered me a turn and I accepted. Pass him over."

"Uh-huh." Turning to face her, he made no move to hand her the baby, as he said, "S.A.R.A.H., what just happened to Ivy?"

"Her heartbeat accelerated and her cortisol spiked," S.A.R.A.H. responded promptly. "Her blood pressure has also risen."

"But not epinephrine," Fargo mused, eyes intent on hers. "So you're not scared of holding him, just stressed."

"You – that's – you," she stuttered over her words, finally finishing with, "That is SO unfair!" Her blue eyes began to fill with liquid, taking on a radiant sheen that made them momentarily more beautiful, until the tears spilled over.

"You're sad?" he asked, worried. If all women were confusing, Ivy was confusing times two. No, worse than that – confusing on an exponential scale. Confusion squared, at a bare minimum.

"No, I'm not sad," she spit the words out. "I'm mad. Really, really mad." Maybe the baby in Fargo's arms felt the tension and didn't like it. Or maybe he just decided that he'd had enough of this strange place. But he started to fuss.

"Well, why are you crying, then?" Fargo asked, rocking the baby a little and feeling helpless.

"Because I'm angry at you! And when I get really angry, I cry. If I don't want to tell you how I'm feeling, asking a computer to find out is…is cheating. It's just not right."

The baby's fussing escalated, but before he could get more than a loud whimper out, Sandie swooped in and Fargo released him gratefully into her arms.

"And now I'll never get to hold him," Ivy wept with fury. "You'll have plenty of chances but I'll be in prison."

"We need to do something about that," said Jo, as she passed Thing One – now Jaime – to Zane and took Thing Two from Sandie. "Oh, dear," she added looking at Thing Two's disconsolate, fussy face. "You were right, Zane."

"I was?"

"He looks like an Ezekiel to me. We shouldn't have waited to pick his name."

"No way." Zane pulled his attention away from Jaime long enough to study his firstborn's face . "Wow, I see what you mean. Well, better that than Ebenezer. Or Stanley – he could almost be a Stanley."

"He's not a Stanley," Ivy said through tears. "He's an Alexander."

"Oh," Jo said, sounding surprised. "Yes, he might be."

"Okay, now that you've named the baby, can we move on to finding that $500 million?" Fargo knew that he ought to be letting Jo and Zane bask in the glow of two healthy babies, but he was back to worrying.

"Oh, we know where it is," Zane said absently. He was holding Thing Two next to Thing One and comparing their faces. "I almost hate to say it, but they do look an awful lot alike. Are we going to be getting them mixed up?"

"DNA analysis indicates that the twins have identical nuclear DNA, but there are minor variations in their mitochondrial DNA," S.A.R.A.H. offered. "I will always be able to distinguish between them."*

"You know where the money is?" Fargo asked. "Great, how can we get it back?"

"It's not quite that easy," Jo was the one who answered Fargo, although she too was mostly studying the babies' faces. "S.A.R.A.H. spent it already."

"S.A.R.A.H. what?" Fargo was so shocked that his voice squeaked on the last word. Damn, he hated when that happened.

"I am afraid that I did not realize that the financial maneuvering I was engaged in would fall into the category of embezzling," S.A.R.A.H. said apologetically. "I viewed my transactions as an efficient means of balancing my need for funds against my time constraints."

"How did you do it?" Ivy asked. Her tears had dried, and she was listening to S.A.R.A.H. with fascination. "$500 million is a huge amount: I know you used my program but you must have modified it or you would have been setting off red flags right and left."

"Indeed. Would you like to see my code?"

"Yes, please." S.A.R.A.H. lowered the periscope with its computer consoles again and Ivy crossed to it, and began quickly scrolling through the lines of text that appeared on the screen.

Fargo frowned. He really hoped that was just intellectual curiosity from Ivy: it would be ironic if S.A.R.A.H. was teaching her how to be a better embezzler. But if S.A.R.A.H. was the one who had stolen the money, was he the one who was going to wind up in prison?

"Well, if the money's already spent, can you get it back?" he asked.

"No," S.A.R.A.H. responded flatly.

"We didn't really have a proper introduction." Sandie stuck out her hand for Fargo to shake. "I'm the $500 million. Sandie is short for Self-Actuated Nanny: Deployed Intelligent Entity."

Fargo's eyes widened. "Jeez, nice baby present," he said to S.A.R.A.H. "That puts the stroller I bought to shame."

"Aw, you got us a stroller?" Jo said.

"For your shower next week," Fargo sighed. "A really nice one, too. Self-folding, battery-operated, running lights, a cell-phone charger, an LCD panel that shows your mileage…"**

"All essential elements for a stroller." Jo was laughing at him but Zane would appreciate it, Fargo knew. It was the coolest stroller on the market. Of course, if he'd had S.A.R.A.H.'s imagination, he would have added anti-gravity – a floating stroller would have been awesome.

But the thought of gravity reminded him of the problem again. "So you used the identity you created back when you developed the tensor fields?" he asked S.A.R.A.H..

"There was paperwork to fill out, and I needed a first and last name." S.A.R.A.H. sounded almost apologetic. "I assessed the probability of convincing the Department of Defense to approve an incomplete proposal, or the further probability of encouraging them to revise their forms to permit an application that did not require both a first and a surname, and concluded that to expedite my project would require the use of a surrogate identity."

"This is so impressive," Ivy had been focused on the code. Her tears had dried and her cheeks were lightly flushed. She looked almost happy, Fargo realized. "You used transactional analysis*** to match actual purchases against budgeted costs and moved the difference to your account. But still, $500 million is huge. Did you really find that much in cost savings?"

"I also used funding from cancelled projects, and made some equipment transfers," S.A.R.A.H. explained.

Ivy nodded, still examining the numbers on the screen. "Oh, I see it here. You know, ninety percent of this, maybe more, would be legal if you'd just had permission. Not something a human accountant could easily do by hand – it would take too much time – but any big corporation would love this software. And the part that isn't legal is – well, my part. It's easy to hide."

"Somehow I don't think Mansfield would have authorized a robot nanny," Zane said dryly.

"No, but Alison would have." Fargo was watching Sandie help Jo position a baby to nurse. It looked much more complicated than he would have imagined. Didn't the baby have instincts that told him what to do? "And Mansfield might have authorized a robot nurse."

"What are you thinking?" Zane asked.

"If Alison and I both claimed that we knew all along, and we created the paperwork to support it, maybe we could convince Mansfield that he lost or misfiled the paperwork."

"Too dangerous," Jo said firmly, adding an "ouch" as the baby finally latched on. "We don't want Mansfield getting suspicious." She glanced at Ivy and didn't say any more, but Fargo understood what she was thinking. Although they'd been in this timeline for months, almost a year, they still needed to be careful.

Ivy was looking at them, eyes almost wary. "Are you really going to help me?"

A dozen possible answers sprang into Fargo's head, starting with "After sex like that, I'd help you rob a bank if you wanted me to," but he stuck with the most judicious, saying simply, "I programmed S.A.R.A.H.. If anyone finds out about this, I could be in as much trouble as you." He wasn't sure how much he truly knew about Ivy, but he understood that trust didn't come easily to her. She'd accept, and maybe even respect, self-interest as a motive.

She looked at him for a long silent moment. Zane and Jo were focused on the babies again, as Alexander settled in to nursing contentedly while Jaime started to fuss. In a low voice, Sandie was explaining some mysterious logic of breast-feeding to Jo.

Finally, Ivy seemed to make a decision. She dimpled at him, and said, "I don't usually close my back doors."

He looked at her blankly for a moment and then realized what she meant. His eyes widened. "Mansfield?"

"Him, his assistant, probably anyone in his office. They're on a closed network, so they rely on that for security. They're not as careful as they ought to be."

"Ooh, nice." Zane had apparently still been listening.

"If you have the right documents, I can plant them on his system. We can change the date stamp, so it looks as if they've been there for a while."

"Won't Mansfield wonder why he never heard of a robot nanny?" Jo asked skeptically.

Fargo shrugged. "We don't call her a nanny. We call her further research, and add her to the paperwork on Sheriff Andy. We make it look like a project extension. We have to file a new budget every time Andy gets destroyed, so Mansfield has already signed off on supplementary budgets more than once. This'll look just like another one in the list."

S.A.R.A.H. said, "How nice. In that case, Andy will truly be S.A.N.D.I.E.'s father. I'm sure he will be delighted." Fargo bit his lip, trying not to laugh as he imagined telling Andy that he was a father, and Ivy's smile grew a little brighter. Across the room, Zane and Jo exchanged glances and grins, and then turned back to the vastly more important jobs facing them.

Much later, Fargo sat, watching Ivy sleep, her red hair spread across her pillow. He'd convinced her to stay, just for the rest of the night, just to get some sleep before she made the drive back to the coast.

But he had plans. She needed the plant problem solved, too, as much as he did, if not more. He'd ask her to stay a little longer, just a few days, just to let the botanists run some tests. And when the botanists had done their thing, he'd ask her to help Zane with a security check of GD's computer systems, just for a couple weeks, just to ensure that there were no holes.

And after that? Well, he'd think of something.

Outside his window, his shrubs were flowering.

_* Is that not cool? Turns out identical twins actually aren't exactly identical. Epigenetic modification throughout their life will affect their genes, but even at birth, there can be differences in mitochondrial DNA. _

_** I so wish I was making that up – but the only part of the stroller description that is unreal is that they don't have a twin version. Yet." _

_***Actually, transactional analysis is a psychoanalytic theory about communication and human development. It struck me as a stupid name, though, and made me think about what transactional analysis ought to be, and so I have re-invented it for my embezzlement purposes. It's not real, though. (Well, or it is real, but it's not real in the sense in which I've used it in the story.)_

_A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed! I think I was juggling a little too much life while trying to write this story (not to mention that major Eureka Redux digression) and it suffered as a result - if I had a lot more hours in my life, I'd go back and make it twice as long with a lot more Ivy and Fargo - but since I don't have all those hours, I'll just say that I appreciate all your encouragement and kind words. I hope you had fun reading! _


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